The One With the Gun
by Sandilynn Petersen
Summary: "D' I need t' remind ya who has the gun, muchacha?" Murdock's paranoia working overtime? Or is the new psychiatrist at the VA hospital up to no good?
1. Chapter 1

The One With the Gun

I apologize in advance for not updating _Author, Author_ and _Keeper of the Truth_ for so long. I had laptop problems and the next chapters to those two stories were on that laptop. I started this story on my daughter's laptop while waiting for mine to be returned from the repair shop. Please enjoy this story. I will continue working on the other two stories as soon as possible.

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

Yesterday seems as though it never existed

Death greets me warm, now I will just say goodbye.

From _Fade to Black_ by Metallica

Chapter 1 The Here and Now

I struggle against darkness to rouse myself to consciousness. I don't know what happened. It's like the hours before I passed out were erased from my mind.

"D' I need t' remind ya who has th' gun, muchacha?"

Murdock's voice cuts through the cotton wool fogging up my thought processes. He sounds menacing as if he would actually use the weapon he says he has. I want to know what's happening but my brain can't send a signal to the muscles controlling my eyelids so I can see him.

And the memory of how I came to be wherever I am refuses to surface from the recesses of my mind no matter how hard I try to conjure it up.

Muchacha, he said. That means he's threatening a female with the gun.

But my buddy would never . . .

I shift position ever so slightly on the semi-hard surface where I lay. A searing pain like a fiery hot poker in my right thigh inches above my knee makes me suck in air. My fingers curl tightly, nails cutting into the palms of my hands. The air comes back out, sounding like something between a groan and a wail. It's an utterance so primal that I'm amazed it's coming from me.

I've been wounded. I don't know how serious it is or how it came to be.

My buddy knows. I want to ask but my lips and vocal cords are about as useful as the muscles of my eyelids right now. I sense my mouth opening and closing. I know my breaths are ragged and harsh by the way my chest heaves up and down . . .

Wait. Am I dying?

"No. I won't." Whoever the female is, she speaks with firm determination. Her voice is familiar to me but I can't place it. And I know I should be able to.

"Do it now 'r I'll be forced t' use this." Murdock's tone has grown even grimmer but there's something more in his voice . . . I detect fear. . . pain . . . desperation . . . and over all of that is a white hot fury I've seldom heard him use against anyone except toward someone who has hurt one of our team.

Who's here with us? Why is Murdock holding a gun on her? And why can't I remember?


	2. Chapter 2 Suspicions

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

Oh here she comes

Watch out boy, she'll chew you up

Oh here she comes

She's a maneater.

From _Maneater_ by Hall and Oates

Chapter 2 Suspicions

Two months earlier . . .

ooooo

I watch as Face flashes his hundred-watt smile at the psychiatrist. She smiles back and my best buddy turns on even more charm. Her eyes don't quite get the message that she's smilin'. I've never seen such cold analytical eyes on a woman that pretty.

Her name's Meg Wainwright. She's new here at the VA and she's been assigned to my case part time. I hear she requested it.

I've done all of the usual things t' show her I belong here, that I'm jus' as nuts as the next guy down the hall. Sometimes I get the creepy feelin' she sees through the times I'm fakin' an 'episode.'

Maybe she's also seen one of the nights when the episode isn't faked. Oh yeah, I still have a few o' them. Guess that gives her a reference point by which to compare notes. That means I'll have to be more careful when I'm around her. Because I know somethin's not right with her.

God knows Face is unaware of my suspicions. He hasn't got the paranoia microchip I have implanted in the center of my bein'. We're best buddies but that doesn't mean my super sensitive Spidey radar has rubbed off on him.

He sees a skirt, ponytail or cute dimple and most of his guardedness goes soft and mushy like last year's uneaten apple.

He's supposed to be extractin' me from my home at the VA under the premise that my last blood sample revealed a possible cure for dementia.

Ha! That's funny. With my mental problems . . . and yes . . . I came back from Nam with a basketful o' them . . . that sort o' story shouldn't wash with anyone.

Maybe it ain' completely washin' with the doc. She's been probin' him about the particulars of the tests they're supposedly gonna run. He's been stonewallin' her and tryin' to get her phone number at the same time. I could almost laugh at how smooth he's operatin' to get both done at once.

As soon as that mission is accomplished, we should be outta here.

In the meantime, I'm sittin' in the wheelchair the orderly provided. He's standin' behind me, impassively waitin' for them to stop arguin' over my release. At the same time, he ain' gonna let me waltz on down the hallway to my room to wait for them to decide.

I'm bored. I exert my mind-controllin' brain cells on willin' my buddy to either finish the game or call it. In the process, I don't pay attention to what happens between them until she hands him something and gives him a meaningful look.

I sense something more behind that look than "Why don'tcha come up and see me sometime." Like I said, I don't trust her. I fidget in the chair so much that she turns her cold gaze on me. Her eyes freeze me in position.

"So if he becomes agitated and has a relapse, I should call you at this number?" Face frowns at the slip of paper she has given him.

I roll my eyes and hope this ends my buddy's quest. Sometimes I think he offers to break me outta here just to see what new fillies are in the stable.

The orderly begins movin' the wheelchair down the hallway and stops at the elevator while Face and the woman shrink finish their business.

"I can take him the rest of the way," Face suggests as the elevator door opens. The orderly nods and steps away as my buddy backs in with me.

As the door closes, I note Miss Wainwright's . . . I say Miss b'cause I ain' sure she's even who she says she is . . . I note Miss Wainwright's chillin' gaze scan me and Face before she devotes her attention to speakin' into the phone in her hand.

"She's new here, isn't she?" Face interrupts my musin' about the shrink and the call she was makin'. He claps his hand on my shoulder, startlin' me. "You've been holding out on me, Murdock."

Or protectin' you 'til I figure out what her game is. Instead of givin' voice to my suspicions, I nod mutely. What else can I do without solid proof?


	3. Chapter 3 Not Quite As Planned

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

To breathe the name

Of your savior

In your hour of need

And taste the blame

If the flavor should remind you of greed . . .

From _Carnival of Rust_ by Poets of the Fall

Chapter 3 Not Quite As Planned

Seven weeks, five days, later

ooooo

"Murdock? Where are you?" I peer into the shadows of the abandoned gas station garage. The light from outside barely shines through the grime of several years of neglect. I keep my gun in my hand and ready should any one of the gang we've been hired to take down make an unwelcome appearance. After all, wouldn't Gustav have left someone to guard his hostage?

"Why is it Hannibal's plans never quite go as planned?" I mutter. It's something I often wonder. As I listen for anything but the sounds of the neighborhood outside I curse under my breath about Hannibal and his plans. I hear a shuffling noise somewhere in the actual garage and proceed with caution in the direction of the sound.

It was certainly not part of the plan for Gustav and his small group of thieves to capture Murdock as he did surveillance on their hideout. The criminal leader forced the pilot to call Hannibal on the van phone. I answered the phone before the Colonel could reach it.

"Don' . . . don' . . . look fer . . . me . . . " A sharp yelp ended the words. Then Hannibal took the instrument from my hands. Even now, I remember the slurred tone of my best friend's voice. And the cry of pain as they did who knew what to make him shut up.

If we wanted to see Murdock alive again we were to leave the van in a nearby parking lot in a ragged part of Arlington Heights and walk to an apartment building slated for demolition. Someone would be watching our every move and if one thing looked wrong . . .

But with characteristic optimism Hannibal sidestepped the change in plans and managed to avoid getting us killed while simultaneously leading Gustav himself into our own snare. It was only a matter of using the bossman as a living shield to subdue the others. And didn't Hannibal gloat in Gustav's face as we tied each member of the group up? It was the jazz working at its best.

A little fist-to-face time with B. A. convinced one of the thieves to reveal where they stashed their hostage.

Keeping out of sight, B. A. was left to monitor the warehouse where Gustav, his men and the goods they had stolen were locked in and awaiting the arrival of the police. Hannibal and I hurried to find Murdock.

Once at the garage the goon said they held my friend, the Colonel kept an eye out for any suspicious activity. The ancient gas station garage seemed too small to be a good place to hide a person so they couldn't be found. Hannibal reassured me that finding Murdock should be "a piece of cake." An easy in-and-out rescue.

As soon as I pass through the open door from the office to the garage, I groan. I should have known the Colonel may have underestimated the time needed to complete the job. Not to mention I would have to have my suit dry-cleaned and possibly fumigated after we were all safe.

Piles of tires, dozens of stacked mildewed boxes, various broken desks and office chairs, a solid wall of gray rusty lockers, a 1975 red Ford Pinto hatchback and more are squeezed into the small space that had once serviced cars and trucks. The place is like an indoor junkyard. Paths lead through the head-high mounds of accumulated garbage. I follow one of the paths, hoping it's the right one and I don't get lost in the maze.

"Murdock!"

Wait! I thought I heard a faint moan to my right. But to my right two sets of metal shelving, each shelf covered with rat feces, invoice books, automotive manuals and grime, stand in the way of the Pinto and its contents. On the other side I note there's space between the shelves and the driver's door with its smashed in window and a wider open area behind the car. Enough room for them to haul Murdock. But where is he? Through the smaller side window I glimpse movement in the cramped cargo area.

Rats? Or . . .


	4. Chapter 4 Lost, Now Found

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

Don't you understand what I'm trying to say?

And can't you feel the fear that I'm feeling today?

If the button is pushed, there's no running away.

There'll be no one to save with the world in a grave.

Fom _Eve of Destruction_ by Barry Mcguire

Chapter 4 Lost, Now Found

There's another moan. It definitely came from the abandoned Pinto.

 _Thank God!_

"Hold on, buddy! I'm coming!" I pick my way to the end of the shelves and turn the corner. Making my way between the car and the metal shelving unit, I fume at the condition my clothing will be in by the time we get out of the garage. I know it's a selfish thought . . . after all, my best friend is in here and I know I'd search a landfill site to make sure he was safe . . . and he'd do the same for me.

Reaching the rear of the car, I peer in the hatchback window to see Murdock squinting up at me. Am I relieved? Yes, but he doesn't look right. Something is very wrong. Something beyond the split lip, bloodied nose and purpling bruises around his eye and on his cheek.

I tuck my gun in my waistband and try the latch. The hatch opens with a protesting creak.

 _How did they manage to cram him in there so tightly?_

"Shouldn'ta . . . come . . . " he mutters. He squirms ever so slightly, as much as the small space and his bound hands and feet allow him to move. Gasping out a pained breath, he repeats the first word. "Shouldn'ta . . . "

 _Just like Murdock to insist on everyone else's safety except his own. How do I answer him?_

"Well, I did and we'll be out of here soon enough," I respond, my fingers already busy cutting the ropes around my friend's wrists and ankles.

"No . . . don' . . . " Murdock swallows then, squeezing his eyelids tightly shut. "Bomb . . . "

 _Bomb? Where? How much time do we have? Doesn't matter. I'm not leaving him._

The single word threatens to freeze my efforts to free him. Cursing silently, I squelch my sudden panic and saw even more savagely at the ropes.

If it hasn't gone off yet, maybe we have some time. Or maybe they didn't know what they were doing.

 _Yeah, right. We could be so lucky._

"Face! Murdock!" That's Hannibal. From the sound of his voice, he knows the danger we're all in. He's at the door I used to enter the garage.

"Here, Colonel!"

There's movement, crashing sounds as Hannibal hurries toward us. He appears at my side just as the last rope falls away from Murdock's ankles.

"Come on, Captain. Let's get you out of here before this whole place goes up." The Colonel is already pulling Murdock's legs out of the car and draping his arm over his shoulder.

"Go! . . . Leave . . . me . . . " My buddy's slurred words end with a sharp cry of pain as the Colonel extracts him from the tight compartment.

"We go out together, Captain," Hannibal mutters, reaffirming to Murdock as well as to me that he has no intentions of leaving a man behind, even to save his own life. My friend groans a protest and sucks in a breath as his abdomen uncurls from the position it has been in for . . . how long now? Maybe from the moment they forced him to make the call to the van?

 _No time to figure out where he's injured or how badly. No time . . ._

And that thought drives everything but the task of getting all of us out of there from my mind. I can see from Hannibal's temporary disregard for Murdock's outcries that his training has kicked in as well. Now to find a way through all this junk to safety. And hope we make it in time.


	5. Chapter 5 Boom!

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

Always looking 'round me

Forever looking back

I'll always be a target for attack.

Ever moving onwards

Always on the run

Waiting for the sight of a loaded gun.

I am a fugitive being hunted down . . .

From _The Fugitive_ by Iron Maiden

Chapter 5 Boom

Hannibal lifts Murdock to his feet, eliciting a louder cry of pain, and staggers for a moment as my friend's knees buckle under him.

"Come on, buddy! We have to get out of here!" I feel my panic start to get in the way of action. Instead of letting fear paralyze me, I move to Murdock's other side. I know what to do. We've all manhandled friends out of danger's way too many times to count.

"He's been drugged and worked over pretty good," Hannibal offers in a tone too matter-of-fact to my liking. "A little help, Face?"

What does the man think I'm going to do? Let him and my best friend be blown to smithereens?

The Colonel pauses to let me get a grip on Murdock's arm and sling it over my shoulder. Together, half-dragging, half-carrying him, we edge our way with our comrade along the makeshift paths to the garage door. Barely conscious, Murdock hangs like a dead weight between us.

Once clearing the building, we quicken our pace, letting my buddy's legs drag behind us as we seek refuge as far from the garage as possible. Just as we scramble behind a dumpster down the alley, the fireworks start. It isn't as big of an explosion as I had feared but enough to send one of the Pinto's doors sailing across the alley. Papers flutter gently to the ground. I can't see anything more than that but I bet the garage has a new back entrance.

Shielding our heads and Murdock from the debris raining down on us, I shout over the noise, "How did you know there was a bomb?"

"Murdock's guard told me. He ran straight toward me. Had a little trouble getting around my fist. He begged me to let him get out of here."

"Did you let him?" I carefully raise my head to look at the Colonel. The dust from the explosion is still settling but the larger pieces of garage, garbage and Pinto have fallen to the earth.

"Hell no." He grimly meets my eyes.

oooooo

I know there's no time to lose in getting all three of us out of this location. I don't want to move Murdock. He's been injured and pretty badly if the sounds coming from him as we made our escape are any indication.

He's roused himself from his semi-conscious state. I can see he's mentally assessing his own physical condition, probably determining if he's able to move when we do or if he should demand we leave him. If I had the choice, I'd stay and make sure of his readiness myself because I know him too well.

But we have to move or when the cops arrive . . . and, yes, they still do eventually respond to explosions like this even in the worst L. A. neighborhoods . . . they'll find and arrest us. It's no great comfort that they will also arrest the scumbag that pressed the button that started the timer that . . . well, you understand what I'm saying.

If we get arrested, how long before they make the connection to our military records? As if reading my mind . . . it still surprises me when he does this . . . Murdock forces my thoughts out of his own mouth, as slurred as those words are.

"Hann'bal . . . we gotta . . . get . . . our tails . . . outta here . . . fas' . . . " He grits his teeth and pushes at us to make us move. It's only then I realize that Face has not left his position as a human shield over his friend. Before I can say anything, the kid comes to the same realization and pushes himself into a squat. I notice his reluctance to move very far away from Murdock

I nod to let both of them know I understand the urgency of the situation. Sometimes being the one to make the decisions as the leader of my men sucks. "Agreed, but we're still not leaving you, Captain."

"Too bad . . . " Murdock coughs, turning his head to the side. Blood mixed with sputum spackles the dusty ground as the coughing fit continues for a few seconds. I quickly assess the color of the blood without letting either man know I'm doing so. They don't need to add a punctured lung to the list of growing problems.

Finally Murdock focuses back on my face. Something in his gaze tells me he knows I'm sparing Face from worry over him.

He lets the corners of his mouth twitch upward and the split in his lip opens up again, making blood ooze out and trickle down his chin. I'm amazed Murdock can still smile. But the fact that he can smile says that he knows his condition isn't grave enough to wait around.

"Too bad . . . they wired that . . . that li'l car . . . in there . . . t' blow . . . She didn' . . . d'serve . . . t' die like that . . . Coulda used 'er . . . t' get 'way . . . "

Hearing that comment makes my blood boil. So he planted the explosives close enough to Murdock that when it blew . . .

If Face hadn't found Murdock in time there wouldn't have been enough left of Murdock to find. I want nothing more than to beat some more sense into that scumbag's head. The very distant wail of sirens prevents me from going over to where he lay unconscious and doing that.

"Glad to hear you still have your sense of humor. If we help you, can you walk?" Everything in me doesn't want to make him get to his feet. He smiles again and I've got to mentally applaud his courage and determination.

"Had 'nough o' . . . this scene . . . Let's . . . blow this . . . joint."


	6. Chapter 6 Nightmares

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

'Cause we hunt you down without mercy

Hunt you down all nightmare long

Feel us breathe upon your face

Feel us shift, every move we trace

From _All Nightmare Long_ by Metallica

Chapter 6 Nightmares

I wake up ta a bunch of muttered words that don' make any sense. But knowing who they come from makes me angry. I'm not angry at him. No. Not this time. I'm mad at the ones responsible for this.

Fool's havin' another nightmare. Third one t'night. First two were bad, Hannibal said. This one's sounds like it's gonna be worse.

His mumblin' woke me up from my own bad dream. But his is worse 'cause he'd prepared himself ta die over the last few days. Not just a "maybe this's it" sorta mindset like we all had every time we were sent out over there in Nam but a certain feelin' of _knowing_ your days're over. Don't wanna admit it but the fool's got a lotta guts standin' up an' facin' that. One of the bravest guys I know.

He sleeps 'lone tonight 'cause of his injuries. One of us's right there in the room with him, takin' our sleep in bits an' pieces. We can't let him sleep unwatched. I don' know how many nights it'll take this time before he can sleep in a room 'lone. Not even that stupid Woody Woodpecker nightlight we plug in jus' for these kinda times is calmin' him down. Not this time.

When Hannibal an' Faceman came back with him, they didn' give me all the details. Just enough ta make me wanna put my fist through a wall. Jail ain' enough of a punishment for Gustav an' what he planned for Murdock.

I get ta my feet an' go over close enough to the bed he's in so I can talk ta him. I don't wanna hafta wrestle him to the mattress if he tries ta run. 'Cause he will if I can't talk him outta this dream.

When he's 'wake he's been twitchy like the enemy's all 'round 'im. Comin' outta sleep right now like he is . . . it's gonna be bad. I'd hurt him worse if I had ta hold 'im down ta keep 'im here in the room.

Faceman's nex' door if I need him ta help me. He woulda stayed an' let Hannibal an' me sleep if the Colonel hadn't ordered him ta get some rest. Faceman got a taste of what the fool got but Murdock had days to face death; Faceman had minutes.

Anyway, Hannibal took the first shift an' got the fool through the first two nightmares. He had a hard time doin' it but he somehow managed.

I swipe a hand over my face an' think of what I can say. Words don't come easy ta me. Words hafta do with feelin's an' feelin's're somethin' I don' handle good either.

But then one of my own distant buried memories surfaces. After Pop was gunned down back in Chicago, I had nightmares. I'd wake up scared, thinkin' someone was breakin' in ta kill us. Momma knew what ta say ta help me figure out what was real an' what wasn't.

What would Momma say if she was here?

When I was real little she sang songs ta me. Momma's got a good voice. I don't.

Murdock's gettin' louder. His squirming is gonna shift that cracked rib an' maybe poke his lung. Then he'll be in real trouble. I gotta do somethin'.

That gives me an idea an' I pray ta my Momma's God it works. I don' even consider askin' Hannibal if I can do it. I pick up the motel room phone an' dial the number I know by heart.


	7. Chapter 7 Momma's Love

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

Back in childhood days,

I can remember loving caresses showered on me.

Mother's eyes would gaze at me so tender,

What was their meaning? Now I can see.

One bright and guiding light,

That taught me wrong from right,

I found in my mother's eyes.

From _My Mother's Eyes_ by Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons

Chapter 7 Momma's Love

The phone rings five times before I realize it's well past midnight two time zones away from where we are.

"Hello?" That one word spoken in her sleepy but caring voice reassures me I did the right thing.

"It's me." Nothing more needs ta be said ta let her know it's me. On our last visit we all realized Decker and his men could be monitoring her phone line through a wire tap. Hannibal helped us come up with a kinda code ta help us get 'round that. Besides, she knows her own son's voice.

"It's been so long since I've heard from you, Brother Barnabas."

I hate havin' ta go by that name but if that's the only way ta get ta talk to her . . .

"Yeah, it's been way too long. Father Johnson says hello."

"How is everyone at the orphanage?" I hear a hint of fear in her voice. I don't want Momma ta worry. I almost think 'bout tellin' her I was jus' givin' her a friendly call ta make sure she was alright.

Murdock has become more restless. He's talkin' out loud now, words I can understand, crazy words, scared words, an' it won't be long before he starts yellin' at the monsters he's dreamin' 'bout. His eyes are tightened against what he thinks he sees. One hand curls into a fist. The other grips the bedcovers.

Momma knows something is wrong an' I don't know how she figures it out but she knows it has somethin' ta do with Murdock.

"Is that Billy I hear? Is he there with you?"

Hannibal chose the name Billy for Murdock, I guess because of the fool's invisible dog. He figured it's easier for me ta look at him an' remember the name Billy. He's become almost like another son ta my Momma an' when Murdock hurts, she wants ta know.

"I'm in the boys' ward. Billy's havin' nightmares again. Real bad dreams. I was thinkin' . . . " I'm not sure now if my idea'll work.

I hear her take a deep breath. "Is he sleeping now?"

"Yeah, but not good. Third bad dream t'night an' he needs his sleep." _I wish I could just tell 'er without all this secretive stuff. There's lotsa things I wish I could tell her._

"And you want to see if my singing to him will make a difference?" I can almost see the sad smile behind her words. She remembers those nights spent calming me back to sleep, too.

"If ya wouldn't mind. When he gets back ta sleep we can talk a li'l more." I know Momma won't say no.

"Hold the phone close to his ear, Brother Barnabas. I'll see what I can do."

I bring the phone to the bed an' try ta get the receiver close ta his ear. He's twisting 'round in the covers too much at first so I get to hear a bit of Momma's rich full voice.

"There will be peace in the valley for me, dear Lord I pray.

There'll be no sadness, no sorrow

No trouble, trouble I see

There will be peace in the valley for me."

I remember that old spiritual. Momma sang it so good she was asked ta share it in church with the choir backin' her. Man, does that bring me back a few years.

I can even see the tears sparklin' in her eyes. There's a lotta sorrow an' sadness those words took away when she sang them.

I wonder if she has tears right now. Remembering, I touch the large gold heart pendant around my neck. It reminds me of her.

I wanna share my Momma's magical comforting voice with my li'l brother. I put one hand on his forehead like Momma would have done ta let 'im know I'm here an' calm him so I can hold the phone to his ear.

It takes a few minutes but the song does what it's supposed ta do. Murdock doesn't hear monsters threatenin' him when Momma sings. His frown disappears and his hands relax. After a few more minutes, he sighs and shifts to a more comfortable position. I carefully take back my hand an' bring the phone with me to the armchair, watching my li'l brother as I do.

I don't let Momma know right away. Now I wanna listen to her sing so I can feel better. After 'Peace In the Valley,' she sings 'It Is Well With My Soul.' I close my eyes as she quietly ends the song. I can't speak right away. I know I should because she's worried 'bout us but I can't push the words past the lump in my throat.

"Brother Barnabas? Did that help? How is Billy?"

I swallow and find my voice. "Ya did real good. He might sleep through the night now."

"What happened? Why is Billy having those nightmares again?" She wants to help but I know she can't ever hear all of the horrors of the POW camp and the war that caused the nightmares in the first place. I don't want her to ever know all of that. She knows enough now ta make her heart ache for all of us and that's already too much.

"Bullies. A gang of bullies hurt 'im bad. We're doin' everythin' we can for him." She knows what I really mean. Not all of it but enough.

"Did the bullies get caught? They won't get away with it, will they?"

"The police arrested 'em. Don't think they'll be causin' trouble anymore." I hear her breathe a sigh of relief.

We talk a while longer, neither of us able to say what we really wanna say 'cause of Decker an' his stupid wire taps.

Then I hear her yawn an' feel guilty for keepin' her 'wake this long.

"I should letcha get back ta sleep. It's been real good talkin' to ya." I don't wanna hang up an' I can tell she doesn' wanna either.

Before she does, she says, "Tell Father Johnson to keep a good eye over all of you. And let me know if Billy needs anything else. God bless and keep you, Brother Barnabas. You know I never ever stop prayng for you."

"I know. I'll be in touch." I have to hang up the phone before I add the word 'Momma.' So I do. I know I ain' sleepin' the rest of the night now. Too many memories.


	8. Chapter 8 The Key

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

And now to see your love set free

You will need the witch's cabin key

Find the lady of the light gone mad with the night

That's how you reshape destiny.

From _The Poet and the Muse_ by Poets of the Fall

Chapter 8 The Key

Two days ago I was helping Hannibal half-drag, half-carry Murdock out of a building rigged to explode. I still can't believe how close to being blown into tiny pieces the three of us were.

The mission was a success. Gustav and his gang are cooling their heels in the county jail and waiting for trial. The cops have enough evidence in the way of stolen televisions and other expensive items to ensure a conviction.

But it's left its mark on both Murdock and me. I guess Murdock is scarred deeper from the mission than any of us realized at first.

We should have known. No one gets beaten up and placed in a car within inches of a push button timer-released bomb without having it affect him in some way.

I could have been blown up with him. That kept me awake that first night for a while. But he had three days keeping that bomb company, knowing he was almost certainly going to die.

That first night was horrible for all of us. Three nightmares, each one worse than the one before. Then, during the day, he couldn't settle down.

Even though he fidgeted while he was supposed to be resting in bed, he didn't talk. He listened. Murdock remained quiet for several hours and jumped at every unexplained noise. Later, he asked me to set up an elaborate system of trip wires and alarms in the room. I couldn't, of course, because it was a motel room. Then he wanted a gun under his pillow for protection.

We locked away the weapons for his own safety.

When the nightmares started again the second night, Hannibal knew we had to leave the motel and get him help. In characteristic fashion, the Colonel left it up to me. He probably figured I'd bring my buddy back to the VA with some excuse for Richter about what happened.

I didn't want to talk to Murdock's main psychiatrist about the bomb and the out-of-control paranoia that resulted. Once he saw Murdock's injuries, Richter would be furious. I know I would be. He might prevent me from contacting my buddy for a few weeks. I thought of a different plan.

I'm glad Meg answers her phone so quickly when I call. She reminded me this second time I came to extract Murdock that if he had a relapse I should call her. Well, this is as close to one as you can get.

"Hi . . . Meg?"

"Joe? I didn't know you would be back in town so soon," I hear her purr into the phone.

"I had to cut the medical trial short. I had no choice." She thinks I took Murdock to a facility where they were testing a new drug to increase his ability to remember his past. Maybe his paranoia will make that story more believable when we show up at her door.

"That's too bad. He must be so disappointed. It would have helped in his recovery so much." Her voice carries a sense of sympathy for her patient.

Before I can say anything, she adds eagerly, "But I'll see you later at the hospital when you come to drop off Captain Murdock. Right?"

"Well, yeah . . . that's the thing." I don't know how to ask her for this huge favor. The few nights I've stayed at her apartment were alright with her but it's another thing to bring a patient to stay there for an indefinite period of time.

"Is something wrong with Captain Murdock?" She sounds very concerned. Of course, she is. He's one of her patients.

"Something happened when he was at the testing facility. A more aggressive patient in the clinical study somehow got to him. I'm afraid he was injured and that incident made his paranoia much worse." There. That explains the injuries and the relapse. I hope she buys it.

"But why can't you bring him to the VA so he can be properly cared for?"

That's a good question but I can't tell her the truth. To her, I'm Joe Morgan, one of the assistants at the facility where all of the special testing and clinical trials are done.

"I . . . well, I feel like I'm sort of at fault. For some reason, he seemed to have decided to trust me. I let him down. Now, if I bring him to the hospital and just dump him off . . . " I let her fill in the blank on that excuse.

"Ahh . . . yes, he has a need to know he can trust someone after this unfortunate event. You're so sweet to offer your services to help him."

I bask momentarily in her praise, then get back to business.

"You still have the key I gave you?"

I hold up my key ring and see it there, a silver key with a streak of bright red nail polish on it to remind me who it came from. "Yes."

"I have to go to work in a few minutes but you're welcome to let yourself in and make yourself and Captain Murdock at home. He can use my bed. I'm sure you and I can figure out a place to sleep."

I smile, thinking about the fake white bearskin rug on the floor in front of the French doors opening onto the balcony. That would make a perfect temporary bed for the two of us.

Before I know it, she's saying goodbye, leaving me with wicked thoughts for later that evening. That is, if Murdock can settle down enough to sleep through the night. Maybe she can give him a sedative? I'll ask her later when she gets home.


	9. Chapter 9 The Best Place To Be

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

I remember when, I remember, I remember when I lost my mind

There was something so pleasant about that place.

Even your emotions had an echo

In so much space.

And when you're out there

Without care,

Yeah, I was out of touch

But it wasn't because I didn't know enough

I just knew too much

Does that make me crazy?

From _Crazy_ by Gnarls Barkley

Chapter 9 The Best Place To Be

I smile as I find a parking space somewhere close enough to the apartment that Murdock and I won't attract attention but far enough away that Decker, if he sees the Corvette, won't know where I went. I'll get him settled in and see what I can do to prepare her some dinner. Maybe candles and a white tablecloth, if she has them. I can picture it now.

I glance at my buddy. Sprawled in the seat, his baseball cap pulled down to shade his eyes, Murdock appears to be sleeping. An occasional twitch and grimace lets me know he's either reflecting on the past few days or dreaming something that won't allow him peace.

"Okay, Murdock. It's time to wake up." I forget what I'm doing and reach out to lightly shake his shoulder.

He sucks in a gasp of air at the same time his eyes open. With lightning speed, he surges forward, snags my wrist and tries to twist it behind my back. A threatening growl comes from his throat and tells me I woke him from the beginning of another bad dream. He isn't in a good enough position to complete the move and I put up resistance, giving him time to see who he's fighting against.

In the next moment, he releases me and shrinks back. Shock and guilt are heavy in his voice as he stammers an apology. "God, Face! I . . . I'm s . . . so sorry. Didn' know who . . . "

He lets out a frustrated sigh and buries his face in his hands, then furiously rubs his temples, closing his eyes. "What's wrong with me? Shouldn' be so jumpy . . . "

I don't want him to beat himself up over what he can't help so I try to distract him. "It's okay. We're here. We'll have to walk about a block but . . ."

He's dropped his hands. Staring around at the streetscape, he frowns at me. In an almost accusatory voice, he demands, "Where th' hell are we? This ain' th' VA. Ya tol' Hann'bal you were gonna take me back t' the VA."

I feel my temper rise even though I know he's confused and trying to keep a hold on reality. "No, it isn't the VA, and for good reason. What do you think Richter would say or do if he saw you like this? Do you think he'd let it go? He wouldn't allow me to take you out of the hospital for a good long time. He might take away your phone privileges and I certainly wouldn't be allowed to see you."

Murdock changes his frown to a furious glare. In stony silence, he thinks about what I said. Then he mutters, "Maybe you're right."

"So I called a friend after Hannibal and B. A. left us. We'll be staying at her apartment until you're healed enough to go back to the VA."

"Her?" he repeats. Normally he would accompany his question with a mischievous grin and a nudge to my ribs. His gaze is guarded and suspicious.

I grin at him, knowing he'll see the wisdom of having someone who can navigate through his episodes right there with us as he mends. "Yeah. Meg."

He looks confused and I can see his brain working overtime to scour the list of names of women he's seen me with. Or the list he memorized when sneaking a peek at my little black book. I can't fault him for that. All of those women are hot. He knows I have good taste.

Coming up empty, he repeats, "Meg?"

"Well, you know her as Doctor Wainwright . . . "

He stares at me as if I have three heads that glow fluorescent green. He's already shaking his head no.

I hurry on with an explanation, hoping he'll understand how helpful Meg could be if he had another nightmare.

"She's a trained psychiatrist. She can help me when you wake up . . . "

Crossing his arms, he mutters, "Bad idea, Faceman. _Real_ bad idea."

"She knows your case history and the methods of treatment that work. I need her help when you get crazy." The word slips out before I can stop it.

He snorts. "Get? Ain'tcha heard? Verdict's a'ready been read on that one. I _am_ crazy! This's jus' 'nother _flavor_ o' crazy you've been seein' th' las' few days."

"Exactly! What happened since Gustav and his goons captured you is beyond any of us to handle. I called someone who I thought could. With her training . . . " I'm getting nowhere with him and I can see it.

Time to pull out one last arguing point, one I had hoped wouldn't be necessary. "Do you _want_ one of those shrinks to recommend a shock treatment tonight when you have your next nightmare? Or maybe a big cocktail of drugs that'll make you lose time and put you through all those unpleasant side effects? Because that's what'll happen."

He fixes me with his clouded anguished eyes and twitches just a little as he remembers. Finally he swallows and, arms wrapped around his abdomen, hunching over, he closes his eyes again and nods. "Okay," he whispers hoarsely. "We'll stay with _her_."

I note the emphasis on the word 'her.' Leaving the car, I focus on getting him to the apartment before he changes his mind. I have some time to think as we walk.

 _What in the world was that all about?_


	10. Chapter 10 Into the Witch's Den

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

And carparks made me jumpy, but I never stopped the dream for the growing need of speed and

novacaine.

So I worked across the country from end to end

Trying to find a place to settle down where my mixed up life could end.

From _Khe Sahn_ by Jimmy Barnes

Chapter 10 Into the Witch's Den

I steal a peek at Face 'n' can tell he ain' gonna listen t' any more arguments.

I can' tell 'im why I don' wanna rest 'n' recuperate anywhere near that woman. My Spidey sense's been increased b'cause o' my experience with Gustav 'n' his boys.

'N' maybe that's good. One o' us oughta be on his toes 'n' watchin' for danger.

If I tol' Face my suspicions, he'd mark it up t' my paranoid d'lusions. After all, he's gotten a peek at my medical records 'n' he knows that diagnosis's there. Richter himself put it in there when I first came t' the VA all these years ago.

We walk 'n' even though the street noises are too . . . noisy . . . for my likin', the fresh air's relaxin'. I can' let my guard down though. Don' know what might happen.

That guy smokin' his cig 'n' glancin' at us? I'm sure his eyes're followin' us as we pass.

Don' look. Don' look at 'im. It'll force his hand 'n' b'cause all my buddy's thinkin' 'bout is blonde hair, a nice ass 'n' a pretty face, he'll never know what hit 'im 'til after it happens.

A loud thud close by 'n' then a squeakin' creakin' mechanical sound makes me stop dead in my tracks. I gotta know what that was b'fore I'll go further. We may be walkin' into a trap.

"Hey, Murdock. Calm down. See that alley ahead of us? It's just the garbage truck." Face grips my elbow and impatiently pulls me along. I look 'n' see he's right. The truck lowers the dumpster to the asphalt with 'nother thud 'n' then moves 'head t' the next.

He's eager t' get me t' our destination. 'N' if it weren't for the fact it'll give us some cover, I'm jus' as eager not t' get there.

At least from what he's said _she_ won' be there. Not right 'way. It'll give me time t' make sure she's who she says she is.

'N' then we're there, standin' in front of a door with the number 403 above it. How'd we get here so fast? 'N' how come I don' r'member gettin' on any elevator? Last thing I r'member was that garbage truck. I've gotta be more careful if I'm gonna keep both of us outta danger.

My buddy's got one hand on my shoulder. Like I'm gonna run 'way given the chance. Maybe I would but that'd leave him here t' face her. With the other hand he shuffles through the keys on his key ring 'til he finds the one he wants.

Here's the moment o' truth. He swings the door open 'n' nudges me inside.

I blink at how plain 'n' simple her place seems t' be. Don' know what I was expectin'. Maybe a witch's cauldron in the kitchen 'n' a book o' spells on the coffee table?

Face's obviously been here a few times a'ready. That should make me feel more at ease but I'm not.

She's been too cold 'n' analytical whenever she's seen me in her office 'n' on the ward t' make me feel at ease. Now, here we are . . . where she lives.

Face closes the door b'hind us 'n' dead bolts it. Maybe he thinks that'd stop me from leavin'.

He drifts over t' the coffee table 'n' picks up a pale pink sheet o' stationery. Holdin' it t' his nose, sniffin' 'n' closin' his eyes. I shake my head but he doesn' notice.

He scans the note she's left 'n' chuckles at somethin' she's written.

Oh man, has he ever got it bad for her.

"So now what?" I ask b'cause he's still got that silly grin on 'is face 'n' my stomach's startin' t' knot up with the tension I can' get rid of. It's like he'd forgotten I was standin' here.

Yup, he's got it real bad.


	11. Chapter 11 Cold and Simple

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

Someone pulled me over, said, "Don't try to touch her.

She is like a glacier moving down a mountain,

Like a block of ice-she's hard but most of all she is so cold."

From _Cold_ by Rupert Holmes

Chapter 11 Cold and Simple

"I guess I'd better show you where you're sleeping while you're here." Face moves across the living room t' a closed door. He opens it 'n' beckons me t' follow.

"This will be your room. Meg . . . Doctor Wainwright . . . insisted you use it."

He smiles as I step over the threshold 'n' take a look.

I'm not surprised at what I see.

No female touches. One wall painted pale blue, the other three paneled with dark wood. Navy blue no-nonsense curtains. No lace, no flowers, no family photos. Cold. Simple.

Jus' like her.

I wanna search her nightstand but I know Face'll stop me 'n' demand t' know what I'm up to. I'll have to check that later. Her closet is another thing.

Gotta make this a good show though I'm not completely sure what I'm lookin' for. Weapons maybe? 'R a witch's pointy hat 'n' a buncha black dresses?

I tiptoe up to the closet door 'n' wait for a second, listenin', my ear t' the wood. Reaching for the knob, I swing the door open quickly 'n' peer inside.

"Murdock?"

"Hmmm?" I'm busy pushin' aside hangers with pants and shirts on them, checkin' the dark space behind them. No dresses 'r skirts. Figures. I wonder if she's even a woman. Maybe a robot . . . 'r an alien . . .

"What're you doing?"

"The guy who's gonna kill ya always comes outta the closet." I'm not really checking for that. I wanna see if she's got anythin' like guns hidden 'way. Face won' suspect. He'll think it's my paranoia 'gain.

"Well, stop it. There's no one but you and me here." He gently but firmly pulls me 'way from the closet 'n' shuts the door.

Fine. I didn't find anythin' anyway. I glance at the dresser 'n' nightstand, my nex' places t' look soon as I get my buddy outta the room.

"Are you hungry?" I know it's his way o' distractin' me. T' tell the truth, my stomach might relax if it had somethin' in it. I haven' had the best o' appetites since they brought me back t' the motel.

"Meg says she left meatloaf and some mashed potatoes in the fridge to heat up. I happen to know she's a great cook." He's got that tone t' his voice that says he's tryin' t' tempt me.

I stroll over t' the bed 'n' lower myself on it. My rib cage still hurts pretty bad 'n' quick movements make it even worse. Carefully I stretch out on my back with my hands pillowin' my head. "I'm kinda tired. Tell ya what. Heat it up 'n' maybe I'll have a bit o' meatloaf." Maybe she hasn' dosed that. B'sides, it'll get 'im outta the room.

He puts his hands on his hips like he's scoldin' a li'l kid and shakes his head. I know he sees how much weight I've lost since _she_ came t' the VA 'n' the las' few days haven' made it better.

"I told her you were having trouble eating. She made this before she left for work and thought it would be like comfort food for you. She told me to tell you that as one of your doctors, she's prescribing it." He tells me the las' thing with a triumphant flare b'cause he thinks I won' go 'gainst what my shrinks think's best for me.

Sorry, muchacho. If he thinks that, he don' know all there is t' know 'bout me. Doc Richter's the one I listen to. Not her.

I gotta get 'im busy doin' somethin', give me time t' check things out. "A nice hot cup o' fresh brewed coffee'd be good. 'N' maybe a couple pieces o' buttered toast. 'N' a piece o' meatloaf. But I really don' think I wan' any mashed potatoes." 'Cause that's the easiest thing for her t' put somethin' in.

He shrugs as he turns t' the door. "Okay. Coffee, toast and meatloaf it is. I'll heat the other up for myself."

Crap. I didn' think o' that. If he eats that 'n' she _has_ stuck somethin' in it . . .

He's gotta be alert even if I'm outta it. Then I think of somethin'. "Too bad she ain' got gravy. With the meatloaf, taters, gravy 'n' toast, it'd be shit on a shingle 'n' I ain' had that for a while."

My buddy gives me a disgusted glance over his shoulder. "That's too much like the camp cook's I've-run-out-of-ideas-and-all-I've-got-is-this-meatloaf sort of meal. You sure you want that?"

I nod eagerly 'n' force a huge grin on my face. "With lotsa gravy. But it's gotta be the stuff outta a can. Nothin' homemade."

"I don't know if she has any canned gravy. I'll look." He disappears out the door and reappears a few seconds later. "I have to run to the store to get it. Will you be alright until I get back?"

This's even better than I hoped for. "I'll be good. I double pinky swear I'll be good. I'll stay right here in the room." Jus' t' make 'im less suspicious, I add, "'Cause I a'ready checked out the closet 'n' I can d'fend myself if someone breaks in while you're gone."

He gives me one last uncertain look before he d'cides it's safe.

"I'll only be gone a few minutes," he tells me b'fore he leaves.

'N' that should be all the time I need.


	12. Chapter 12 Faded Photograph

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

We keep this love in a photograph

We made these memories for ourselves

Where our eyes are never closing

Hearts are never broken

Time's forever frozen still

From _Photograph_ by Ed Sheeran

Chapter 12 Faded Photograph

After I leave Meg's room, I put my ear to the closed door and listen for movement. As soon as I know he hasn't strayed from the bed where he's resting, I leave the apartment, locking the door after me.

I don't know how long Murdock's paranoid episode is going to continue and it's beginning to look like he doesn't like Meg. The way he's been acting, Meg and I aren't going to have any time together without him listening in. I'm starting to think I should've taken him back to the VA and let Richter handle him.

"He's being demanding and selfish," I say out loud without meaning to and receive a strange glance from an elderly man hobbling along on a cane.

As if that old guy flipped a switch and turned on my conscience with that look, I feel a stab of guilt. My inner voice starts arguing with me.

 _He wouldn't be this way if he hadn't been in the POW camp over in Nam. You know that, don't you?_

We wouldn't have been in the camp if he hadn't crashed the chopper.

 _Which wasn't his fault. He couldn't do anything else when the enemy shot up the tail rotor._

Besides, I tried my best to keep him sane in that camp. All of us did. He gave up.

 _Did he? He let them torture him at least as much if not more than they tortured you. And did he ever give them anything to make them treat him better? Like Tommy Angel did? Come on. He didn't give up anything._

Okay, so he didn't give them information. He gave up in his mind. The Murdock we knew stopped communicating for a while. He wasn't the same after that.

 _He couldn't prevent it from happening. He's still a brave man for enduring it. And he's still your best friend. Is it really so much to ask for you to get him through this when you got him through a lot more than this?_

But Meg . . .

 _If she's worth it, she'll understand what you need to do for him and she'll be there when he's well enough to go back to the VA._

With that, my inner voice stopped arguing, leaving me to think things through. I soon decide I've been hanging around Murdock too much when I pay attention to voices that aren't really there.

oooooo

I knew Face hadn' left when I saw the shadows o' his feet under the bedroom door. So I played 'long 'n' kept quiet 'til I saw the shadows move 'way 'n' heard the front door close.

Don' know how long I have so I gotta move fast. I go to her dresser 'n' open the top drawer. Nothin' there but bras 'n' panties in neat folded stacks. I don' bother lookin' under them. It doesn' look like there's anythin' there but what I see.

Second drawer's got a buncha rolled up socks, a couple o' sweaters, three pairs o' jeans 'n' a half dozen shorts.

Bottom drawer. I hold my breath as I rifle through the contents. A two piece swim suit, a half dozen T-shirts.

She ain' a clothes horse. Jus' the essentials 'n' nothin' else.

Disappointed, I turn to her bedside table 'n' cautiously open the drawer. If there's somethin' there, she might have it booby-trapped.

Nothin' happens. I'm jus' 'bout t' mark up my suspicions t' my paranoia when I see two things. The first, tucked half in, half out of a red floral journal type book is a photo. The second's a pistol with a silencer. The second makes my stomach churn.

I take the book out 'n' open it t' where the photo is jus' in case the photo's like a bookmark. Turning the picture over, I see my buddy, his arm aroun' the waist o' some chick that looks an awful lot like my shrink. But it ain' her. They look pretty chummy. So who's the woman?

I look at the back. Written there're the words 'Alvin and Pam, June 1973, Santa Monica Beach.'

Why's she got a photo o' Face with 'nother gal? She mus' know by now my buddy's real name ain' Joe Morgan. So why's she stringin' him 'long?

My hands're shakin' 'n' my brain's swirlin' 'round with more questions than I know what t' do with. I gotta read what she's written in this journal. Maybe it'll give me my answers.

I fin' yesterday's entry 'n' start readin'. She's got pretty good handwritin' for a doctor.

 _I had another dream last night with Pam in it. She told me again that I was doing the right thing. He walks around acting like God's gift to women and doesn't care how many hearts he breaks. Well, he went too far when he broke my sister's heart._

I'm startin' t' see the picture 'n' it's makin' my skin crawl. This sounds like someone hellbent on revenge.

I flip back a few pages.

 _Alvin's (that is, Templeton's) friend doesn't trust me. I can see it during our sessions in the way he evades every question about the friends he had in Vietnam. But I know from his records that he was in the same POW camp with Peck and he was the pilot of choice for the A team Peck was in. The Captain doesn't have any idea who I am or what my plans are. As long as he doesn't foul them up in some way I'll be fine._

Curiosity teases me t' look 'n' see what else she says 'bout me. I resist, knowin' the most important thing is t' try t' fin' out what she plans on doin' with Face. It don' sound good.


	13. Chapter 13 Call For Help

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

She said revenge can be so sweet

I like to take it when I can

I need to play with the ones I hate

I like to see them suffer

From _Revenge_ by Eurythmics

Chapter 13 Call For Help

I called to check on the status of my man. I wasn't expecting the firestorm I'm listening to right now.

"Captain Murdock has been having more nightmares for a few weeks now and you chose this last week to drag him along with you? So where is he now?"

"He isn't there?" No. of course not. If he was, the doctor would be chewing me out for the cracked rib, the bruising to Murdock's face and abdomen and the signs of increased paranoia.

My first reaction is to rub the bridge of my nose and close my eyes. I'm on the phone with Doctor Richter, Murdock's shrink, and he's pissed.

I don't care about the anger. It's justified.

I do care that the Captain has not returned to the VA as planned.

Now that Richter knows that his patient and my pilot is missing, he'll work on his end to find out anything he can and we'll work on ours.

"I'll call Face. If he knows anything at all, I'll let you know, Doc."

I haven't told Richter the extent of Murdock's injuries and I don't intend to. It's better that way.

We agree that I'll keep in touch with him via his home phone. I hang up and dial the next number on my list.

He doesn't answer. So where did the two of them go? What I do know is a certain Lieutenant is going to be running an obstacle course until I'm satisfied he knows a direct command when he hears one.

I won't put Murdock through that. For all I know, he doesn't realize what Face was told to do. He had just come out of a bad nightmare and at the time seemed too disoriented to understand.

I call the next number on my short list of friends and acquaintances.

He answers with a gruff "Yeah?"

"B. A.? We've got a problem."

oooooo

My time's runnin' short 'n' I still ain' got a clear idea o' what Meg Wainwright's plan is. What I do know is she's got a gut full o' hate for the guy she thinks is responsible for hurtin' her sister real bad.

I've scanned through the pages. I'm gettin' nowhere.

One thing is certain. I ain' gonna eat any o' her mashed potatoes.

I close the journal, tucking the photo back where it was. I make sure the journal 'n' photo're exactly as I found it.

The gun? No way's it stayin' where it is. I tuck it b'tween the mattress 'n' box spring. I know. Not very original but I want it close if I should need it.

I a'ready checked. It's loaded 'n' ready.

I pick up the phone b'side her bed 'n' dial the number o' the phone in the van. What I gotta say t' the Colonel's gotta be quick. Don' know when Faceman's gonna come back.

"Al's Garage." It's B. A. He sounds like he's ready t' make permanent holes in some walls 'n' I suspect it's b'cause o' Face 'n' me.

"It's me. Murdock."

"Where you been, fool? The Colonel's . . . "

I close my eyes 'gainst his rantin'. Don' need it right now. "Look. Faceman didn' bring me back t' the VA 'n' I can't help that right now. All I know's we're not safe where we're at."

There's silence on the other end, then the Colonel comes on the line. "Where are you at, Captain?"

"I don' know the street address. It's the 'partment buildin' where my shrink lives. Not Richter. Doctor Wainwright." Once I start talkin' 'bout it, I realize it's a lot more complicated than I can put inta words. "We're not safe here, Colonel. Call Doc Richter. He can find her address. Hurry." Without waitin' for a response, I hang up. I'm runnin' outta time.

I need a place t' throw the food they try t' feed me so they won' fin' it. Can't eat it, knowin' she mighta poisoned it t' get at Faceman 'n' d'cided t' use it on me instead.

My eyes fall on the window. They can't fault me for wantin' t' get a li'l fresh air in the room, can they?

I open it jus' as I hear someone workin' the apartment door lock.

oooooo

I'm glad to see the bedroom door is still closed when I come in. Walking over to the kitchen table, I set the grocery bag down with the can of gravy in it. The bag was heavy but only because I bought a few other things to make dinner for the two of us.

She knows I have good taste in fine dining establishments. She'll be surprised I can cook, too.

I smile and look over at the fake bearskin rug. It's going to be a good night. Then I think of Murdock. If he doesn't go to sleep and sleep soundly, my romantic interlude with Meg will be ruined.

Digging the meatloaf and mashed potatoes out of the fridge, I turn the oven on and set the casserole dish containing the food on the oven rack. I empty the can of gravy into a saucepan and put it on a burner.

Now what else did he say he wanted? Ah yes. Fresh coffee and buttered toast.

I start the coffee and pop two slices of bread into the toaster. If I hurry and serve him, I can start the lasagna and have its aroma filling the air when she walks in the door.

Waiting for the coffee to brew, I butter the toast and arrange it on a plate. I haven't heard a thing from Meg's room. Maybe I should have checked to make sure he hadn't done something rash before I started making his meal.

Then again, he's probably just napping.

I toss the salad greens as I wait to finish preparing his plate.

"A little feta cheese, some sliced black olives, Italian dressing . . . " I admire my handiwork before stowing the salad bowl in the fridge.

As soon as the coffee is ready, I place two slices of meatloaf on the toast, pile the potatoes on and pour gravy over the top. I find a TV tray and put the filled coffee cup and the steaming plate of food on it. I knock on the door before entering to find him lying in the same position he was in when I left.

He has a grim look on his face as he regards me. His silence is unnerving.

"Get any sleep?" I ask as cheerfully as I can muster while setting the tray down on the bedside table.

He shakes his head, a small back and forth movement, then returns to scrutinizing my face as if deciding whether to tell me something.

I don't have time to talk. "Hope you enjoy your meal. I have to go start making the lasagna for Meg and me. It takes time. So if there's nothing else you need . . . "

"No. Guess everythin's okay on this end, Faceman." He continues to scan me.

"Just yell if you do," I answer and leave the room.

I refuse to fuel his paranoia. I have much better things to think about.


	14. Chapter 14 Wicked Intentions

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

Mystery woman, you play at night

Under darkness, you make everything alright

You wave your magic, and I'm in your spell

It may be trouble, but it's too soon to tell.

From _Strange Kind of Love_ by April Wine

Chapter 14 Wicked Intentions

I can hardly wait until Meg comes home. The salad is ready but the lasagna takes a little more time to put together. For a few seconds I wonder if I should call on Murdock's cooking skills to assist me.

Then I think better of it.

Knowing him, he'd take on the persona of a world famous chef named Boyardee or something. Maybe even start singing arias from _Don Giovanni_ or _The Barber of Seville_.

I _don't_ need him to pencil on a fake mustache and serve us in bed like he was some kind of waiter in a pizzeria.

So I work as quickly as I can, thinking of how surprised and pleased she will be.

oooooo

I hafta say, the food Face gave me looks temptin'. My growlin' stomach agrees. The toast 'n' gravy ain' poisoned but I can't take a chance b'cause they touched the meatloaf 'n' potatoes.

As soon as he's gone out the door 'n' I know he ain' standin' there listenin', out the window goes the food. It lands, hopefully hidden from view, b'tween the apartment building wall 'n' a Japanese boxwood hedge. Some o' the potatoes spatter on windows on their way down but maybe the folks in those 'partments'll think it's bird poop.

I've a'ways been a member o' the clean plate club. I carry the plate back 'n' set it on the tray, the fork sittin' on top o' it. The coffee's fresh so it's safe t' drink.

Sippin' the brew, it r'minds me of my friend 'n' his intentions t'ward _her_.

Good t' know Face's cookin' their meal himself. She shouldn't be able t' do anythin' with what he's made 'less he leaves the room for a period o' time.

I've gotta be listenin' soon as she gets home. Don' know what she's gonna pull but I gotta be ready.

I'll keep my buddy from gettin' killed if I gotta give my own life t' do it.

He'd do the same for me.

ooooooo

I'm searching the kitchen drawers for candles to set the mood when Meg arrives home. She gives me a quizzical look and sets a bag with a bottle in it on the coffee table, then sniffs the air appreciatively.

"It smells good. What's cooking, Joe?" She comes closer and wraps her arms around my neck, giving me a long searching kiss before I can answer.

I keep her occupied for several seconds, letting my hands explore. She doesn't push me away or slap me. Is it my imagination or did she just shiver with anticipation?

She finally pulls away. I arch my eyebrows at the thoroughly wicked smile she has on her face.

"What's cooking? Anything you want, babe." I say it and hope that line wasn't as corny as it sounded to my ear. She loosens my tie and begins to unbutton my shirt, letting me hold her around the waist, letting her hips touch mine.

"What about my other house guest?" She whispers it and her hot breath tickles at my neck.

"He said he would stay put and give us some time." At least, I hope he agreed to that. I don't remember. She is intoxicating and I forget everything else in her presence.

Maybe supper can wait.

ooooooo

When she first came home, I heard the two of 'em talkin', too soft for me t' hear what was bein' said. Once in a while, she would giggle . . . as cold as she is, it shoulda been a cackle . . . but I ain' heard anythin' for a long time from the other room. If Faceman was in trouble, wouldn' I of heard somethin'?

My coffee cup's jus' 'bout empty 'n' that lasagna smells like it's a bit overdone. I d'cide t' go refill my cup 'n' check t' see if he's . . . the food's . . . alright.

I pause at the door 'n' press my ear t' its wooden surface. Nothin'. Not even heavy breathin'. Maybe nothin's happenin'.

Who'm I kiddin'? This is Face. Somethin's bound t' be happenin'.

I crack the door open 'n' poke my head out to have a look-see.

The first thin' I see're clothes, both men's 'n' women's, dumped in li'l crumpled piles on the floor 'n' couch. My eyes wander t' the balcony but refocus on the two figures lyin' cuddled up on a white bearskin rug, an orange 'n' brown Navajo blanket coverin' them. Their eyes are closed. They're naked from the armpits up 'n' I assume the rest of 'em's in the same state.

Face sees me as I sneak t'ward the kitchen. With a furious wave, propping himself on one elbow, he gestures for me t' get back in the room 'n' shut the door. Part o' her back is exposed as he does that, confirmin' what I a'ready knew.

Too late. He didn' think she'd wake up but she does. Rolling over on her back, gatherin' the blanket up so I don' see anythin' I shouldn', she greets me coolly. "Captain Murdock." She says it as if she was sittin' at her office desk 'n' I've jus' come t' the door for a session.

I give her a curt nod. "Doc."

"I thought you said you wouldn't . . . " Face begins but I cut 'im off.

"I wanted some more coffee." I sniff the air 'n' add, "B'sides, I think your supper's burnin'. I was gonna shut off the oven so ya don' have a fire."

"Then do that." He turns to her 'n' mumbles a "Sorry. He's like that." Louder, he says, "After you get your coffee, you shouldn't need anything else. _Right_ , buddy?"

What can I say? Nothin's happened . . . at least nothin' bad. I do what I said 'n' return t' the bedroom.

I won' sleep. Not 'til she goes back t' work 'n' my friend's safe. Then maybe I can somehow show 'im she ain' who she says she is.


	15. Chapter 15 Too Late?

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

She got your number

She know your game

She put you under

It's so insane

Since you seduced her

How does it feel

To know that woman

Is out to kill?

From _Blood on the Dance Floor_ by Michael Jackson

Chapter 15 Too Late?

Thirty minutes spent sittin' close t' the door, listenin' for any sound that don' seem right. I don' want anythin' t' happen but I'm impatient for _somethin'_ t' happen. I don' make sense even t' myself.

I hope I misunderstood what she wrote. I'm pretty sure I didn'.

What if all she's gonna do is get him hooked good 'n' dump him hard? He'll survive somethin' like that. It won't be easy but he'll survive.

They spend a lot o' time talkin' 'bout whether I shoulda been sedated t' make sure I got my rest.

As if she cares 'bout my recovery.

I hear glasses clinkin' t'gether. Did Faceman find a bottle somewhere in the kitchen . . . 'r did she bring one in? 'N' if she did, did she dose it?

"Mmm . . . nice taste in wine. Then my buddy salutes her with a "Here's to happiness." I snort softly, thinkin' o' the stuff I foun' out 'bout her. She ain' gonna bring him nothin' but misery.

'Less I stop 'er.

I don' hear her say anythin' in return. I hold my breath, waitin' for her response. Somethin's wrong. I can sense it.

Faceman coughs, clears his throat, then coughs 'gain. "Aren't you going to drink to happiness, Meg?"

"Happiness?" She laughs 'n' I sense somethin's def'nitely changed. I wasn't 'maginin' it. I don' know what that somethin' is but it's makin' me quietly go to the bed 'n' r'trieve the gun from under the mattress. I recheck it t' make sure it's loaded 'n' the silencer is securely in place. Then I take a seat 'gain close t' the door.

"I'm happy right now just being here with you. You're one of the best things that's happened to me in a long time." Face sounds drunk. As sappy as that statement was, he must be. But he couldn'ta had more'n one glass.

"Am I?"

There's a lotta venom in the tone o' her voice. Makes my skin crawl.

He mumbles somethin' I can' make out 'n' she laughs.

I hear footsteps crossin' the livin' room. I assume whoever it is went t' the bathroom. 'R maybe the kitchen. Maybe they're finally gonna have that overcooked lasagna.

The only sound in the 'partment for several minutes is the sound of a drawer openin'. I strain t' hear more movement 'r voices.

The footsteps return, padding 'cross the floor t'ward the balcony.

"Are you still awake, Joe? I hope so because I have a big surprise for you."

My buddy slurs contentedly, "A s'prise? For me?"

"But you have to open your eyes." A few seconds pass. Then she repeats it with more impatience and anger. "You have to open your eyes."

I guess he musta done it b'cause the next thing he stammers is "I don' unnerstan'. What're ya doin'?"

She doesn't answer his question right 'way. I'm tempted t' crack open the door t' see what she's up to. It's only my buddy's earlier warnin' 'bout not leavin' the bedroom that keeps me rooted in place. My heart's thuddin' hard in my chest from wonderin' what's goin' on.

Finally she says, "I'm making you pay for what you did to my sister."

"Sister?"

The scream of pain I hear gets my feet movin'. I slam open the door, gun pointed straight at her as Face passes in 'n' outta consciousness. Blood the size of a dinner plate spreads around the butcher knife she's stabbed through the blanket 'n' into his leg.

He doesn' seem t' know what's goin' on 'round 'im. Guess I wouldn' either if a knife was stickin' in me.

She's still kneelin' b'side him. Right now she's wearin' my buddy's dress shirt 'n' her panties but nothin' else. Maybe she got dressed 'cause she knew he'd make noise when the knife went in. Couldn' be modesty. Not in a witch like her.

Her fingers curl 'round the handle, ready t' pull the blade out 'n' stab 'im 'gain. As my brain tries t' register the shock o' what I see, she r'moves the knife 'n' holds it 'bove his belly. She's not smilin' now 'n' neither am I.

"Drop it." My voice is hoarse with red hot anger.

"Or you'll what, Captain?" I can't b'lieve she's darin' me. 'N' everyone thinks _I'm_ crazy!

"D' I need t' remind ya who has th' gun, muchacha?"

Face moves jus' a li'l 'n' the effort brings out somethin' b'tween a wail 'n' a moan. It makes a chill race up n' down my spine. He's hurtin' bad 'n' I have no way o' tellin' how bad it is with her threatenin' to jab him 'gain. He keeps tryin' t' talk but nothin' comes out. Does he even know what's happened?

She lowers the knife t' waist level 'n' grips the handle with both hands. "No, I won't," she says. Lookin' up at me, she smiles like she's won at some game.

"Do it now 'r I'll be forced t' use this."

She laughs, a chilling sound straight from her cold heart.

"I've read your psychological profile. You won't do it. Hitting a woman is taboo in your code of honor. So shooting a woman is even more against your nature."

'N' I gotta admit she's right. 'Cept I gotta figure out a way t' get her 'way from Face 'n' keep her from killin' him.

She shrugs 'n' shifts the knife t' her right hand. "I'm not going to kill him. Not yet anyway." Sighin', she snags the top o' the blanket with the tip o' the blade 'n' pulls the blanket down, exposin' my buddy's chest.

I hafta distract her. She's gettin' ready to draw more blood. But short o' shootin' her, what'm I gonna do?


	16. Chapter 16 Stark Ravin' Nuts

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

A cross between a movie star

And a hero in a book

Romeo comes struttin' in

And everybody looks

From _Romeo_ by Dolly Parton

Chapter 16 Stark Ravin' Nuts

I dial the number scrawled on the weathered piece of paper retrieved from the glove compartment. Richter answers almost immediately.

"Yes?" He sounds distracted and worried, as if something of great importance is weighing on his mind.

"It's Smith. Have you found out anything on your end?" Despite Murdock's warning, I'm not ready to tell Richter everything I know. It could be the Captain's paranoia working overtime. Better to find out what the doc knows about the new shrink on staff.

I scan the street from the van and see nothing but a couple of derelicts panhandling among the few shoppers wandering from store to store.

I hear Richter let out a heavy sigh. "In the last two months, each time your Lieutenant stopped by to get Captain Murdock released into his care, the same person signed the papers."

"Is it someone you trust?" I sense from the doc's tone, the answer is no.

"She hasn't been on the staff for more than three months. I assumed the department head vetted her thoroughly before she was hired." He pauses.

"What does that mean, doc? Do you trust her or not?" I can't help letting my irritation show.

"I don't know. I started making phone calls. Some of the things in her records aren't checking out." He pauses again. "Listen, Colonel Smith. She worked hard to make sure Captain Murdock was one of her patients. He hasn't seemed to be very comfortable with her but he hasn't told me why. I still see him every week but she's taken over a lot of his sessions."

"Let me guess. Her last name is Wainwright. She _is_ a shrink, right?" Maybe that explains why Murdock seemed more paranoid in the last few weeks.

"Yes and no. I've had difficulty finding anyone who remembers her at the university where she says she studied. Her paperwork seems in order but . . . "

"So what does she have to do with my missing men?" Too late, I realize I haven't told Richter that we haven't been able to call or locate Face either.

"Both of them are missing?" I can almost hear his mind putting the pieces together. "Look, I've seen your Lieutenant's effect on the nurses on the staff. You don't think he and she . . . But that's unprofessional." His voice carries a hint of disbelief.

I sense Richter and I are coming to the same conclusion. He's a smart man and I know he has Murdock's best interests in mind. He's waiting for an answer. "I know Face. It's possible." Thinking of Face's abilities to charm the ladies, I add reluctantly, "And likely."

"Doctor Wainwright left work early today. She said she had to go help a friend of a friend. You don't think . . . " He stops again and I grit my teeth. What Murdock said over the phone is starting to make sense to me now.

"Maybe you should see if you can find her address. If I know him, my Lieutenant is meeting her at her place. We might need your help when we get there."

"As soon as we hang up, I'll be on my way."

I can feel my blood pressure start to rise as I write down the information Richter gives me. I'm not going to tell him about Murdock's mysterious phone call. It's enough that now we know where we need to go to find them.

oooooo

"So who d'ya think this Wainwright woman is, Hannibal?" These are the first words B. A. has spoken since I got the address from Richter. Both of us are dressed in the garb of building maintenance personnel. We have to have some way of getting in and out without any of the residents thinking we don't belong.

"I don't know. Probably someone from Face's past. It isn't the first time he's been in hot water with a woman who thought he wanted more than a one night stand." Out of the corner of my eye I see B. A. nod.

"You'd think he'd learn."

"He never does. And he never will." I think of the times we've _needed_ him to charm a woman in order to get something for us. Maybe this is one of those women, one who objected to being used in that manner?

Quickly I push it out of my mind. To believe that is to accept we have put him and anyone with him in danger. Or encouraged his behavior.

The traffic is bad along I-10 going west. We waste valuable minutes maneuvering our way through trucks and cars headed into downtown LA.

B. A. is even more on edge than usual but he resists tapping the horn so he doesn't draw attention to the van.

We can't do Murdock or Face any good if we get into an accident or have the police or military spot us.

He turns off onto Overland Avenue. I begin searching for street numbers.

"Look, Hannibal!" B. A. points to a familiar red and white Corvette parked in a small shopping center lot.

"It can't be far from here. He wouldn't have wanted to have Murdock walk very far, girl or no girl."

I smile grimly when not a tenth of a mile from the Corvette we find the apartment building where Meg Wainwright lives.

B. A. locates a parking space along Rose Avenue and we walk back toward the building.

"What's the plan, Hannibal?"

Good question. But like many other times, I grin and say, "Front door."

As we near the hedges surrounding our destination, I spot something that makes my blood chill. Lying between the boxwood shrubbery and the wall of the building is a thin orange cat. It barely lifts its head to look at us as we pass. Its vomit looks a lot like the half-eaten food beside it.

I point and B. A. growls something under his breath. He squints up to an open window on the fourth floor.

"Think it came from there?" he asks.

"I'm almost certain of it."

"Think it was one of them that threw it there?"

Seeing the streaks of food on windows below, I nod. "She tried to either poison or sedate one of them."

We quicken our pace but not enough to get people to notice us. I'm grateful that we're arriving late enough in the evening that few residents are out on the sidewalks.

"Front door, huh?" B. A. grunts.

"Front door," I answer as we enter the building.

oooooo

I can't let 'er stab my buddy 'gain. B'fore she lowers the blade 'gain t' Face's chest, I d'cide how I'm gonna handle it.

If I think she's a witch, if I see 'er as a witch, then what's stoppin' me from shootin'? I won' kill 'er. She's right 'bout that. But I can disable her 'nough t' make 'er think twice 'bout carryin' through with her plan.

I aim 'n' fire. At the same time a vase shatters inta a gazillion pieces b'hind her, she jerks 'way from my buddy, her face twisted in an ugly mask o' rage. She crawls t'ward me, knife in hand. A growl somethin' like B. A.'s at his mudsucker ugliest comes outta her throat.

I hit 'er. I know I did. But she keeps on comin'.

"You'll regret you did that, Captain." Blood streams down her left shoulder.

Suddenly, I'm the one in danger. I musta just grazed 'er.

But she ain' payin' 'ttention t' Faceman any more. I'm the focus o' her wrath. 'N' ain' that what I wanted t' do? Get her 'way from my buddy?

I back up, hopin' I don't trip on my shoelaces. Both o' my hands're curled 'round the stock of the gun.

She stumbles t' her feet 'n' follows, jeerin' at me the whole time. "Is that the best you can do, Captain? It isn't going to stop me, you know."

She's absolutely stark ravin' nuts.


	17. Chapter 17 Powerless

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

Through these fields of destruction

Baptisms of fire

I've witnessed you suffering

As the battles raged higher

And though they did hurt me so bad

In the fear and alarm

You did not desert me

My brothers in arms.

From _Brothers In Arms_ by Dire Straits

Chapter 17 Powerless

I feel the blood vessels in my thigh above my knee pulsing in time with waves of pain. Drifting on a tortured gray cloud of semi-awareness, I fight to stay awake long enough to identify what Murdock is doing with the gun he says he has. Most people only see the crazy when they look at him. They're seldom aware of how dangerous he can be when he's like this.

I remember he was having bad attacks of paranoia. In that condition, he might do just about anything. He wasn't the one who caused this pain, was he? Did he attack me, not knowing who I was?

But who's the woman with him?

She laughs. The tone doesn't suggest she's amused by anything my buddy said or did.

"I've read your psychological profile. You won't do it. Hitting a woman is taboo in your code of honor. So shooting a woman is even more against your nature."

Murdock says nothing in response. I feel something . . . a blanket? . . . being moved down lower on my chest and then whoever this woman is adds, "I'm not going to kill him. At least not yet."

Her voice is very close. I can feel her body heat at my side. It's suddenly a little clearer what danger I'm in. She's caused the pain in my leg and my buddy is trying to stop her from doing more damage.

But I can't command my eyelids to open and moving very much is out of the question. I'm helpless, vulnerable.

And, it appears, if I'm sensing things right, I'm naked under the blanket.

It sheds new light on who the woman might be. It also makes me wonder if I've been drugged with something that keeps me from remembering everything else but the present trauma.

I hear a gun go off. It must be a small gun because it doesn't make a large sound. Seconds later something behind me makes a noise like glass shattering.

He did it. He shot at the woman. Even though my thoughts are foggy, I'm stunned. Is she dead?

Within a minute I get my answer. The woman has moved away from me. Her anger goes with her like a brooding companion.

What did I do to make this woman so pissed at me?

There's no time to wonder. I hear a growl that I know isn't my buddy.

What kind of hellcat did I seduce?

She snarls, "You'll regret you did that, Captain."

He says nothing. I hear footsteps slowly leading away from me before she adds, "Is that the best you can do, Captain? It isn't going to stop me, you know."

The footsteps continue to retreat. I have to know what's going on. I force my brain to make the connection to my eyelids. The command misfires at first, just long enough to hear her repeat, a little farther away this time, "If that was all the better you can do . . . "

Murdock responds but I'm too involved with getting my eyes open to hear all of it. I do notice the provoking tone of his voice. I hear, "I can do better'n that. Much better . . . "

He's letting himself be the recipient of her rage. To keep her from killing me.

Boy, do I know how to pick women!

No time for regrets either. My efforts to open my eyes finally works.

The first thing I see is the woman. She's wearing one of my dress shirts and very little else. Nice figure, great legs, but that's as far as my thought 'pretty hot' goes. The next second, I notice something else that makes my stomach wrench.

She grips a knife in her right hand. The blade is coated with a viscous red substance. The shoulder of her left shirt sleeve is bloody. He must have hit her with his shot.

The second person I see is Murdock. He's backing away from her and in his hands is a gun pointed at her. For now, he appears to be uninjured. His eyes are wide, a trace of indecision but mostly manic 'jazz' in his gaze. He doesn't notice me. He stares at the woman who continues to advance toward him. I don't know if he's thinking clearly or not.

I blink to make sure I'm seeing things right but when I open my eyes again, Murdock has backed into a room with her following.

I could laugh at the absurdity of the whole thing. A gun beats a knife hands down, no contest.

They say more things I can't hear and then she screams something that doesn't sound like it comes from a human.

I hear them scuffling. Even though I know Murdock should be able to subdue her, I don't know if he can with a cracked rib.

I glance around the room, looking for pants to put on. If I'm going to try to help my buddy, I can't do it naked. Spotting some of my clothes, I crawl toward the couch. The rug moves with me, under me, but the blanket falls away, leaving me completely exposed.

I reach for my briefs and feel a wave of dizziness. Letting the couch be support for my back I bend over my legs to pull them over my feet and up. It's then I see the bloody wound in my thigh. I don't notice the blood spurting so she must not have nicked an artery. But it _is_ still bleeding.

Somehow I wriggle into my underwear, trying to avoid thinking of the pain as I draw the cloth up over the wound. The effort has cost me. I have to let my head loll forward over my chest. I close my eyes again to keep the spinning room from making me pass out.

I hear Murdock's muffled yell, "Hey! That was one o' my fav'rite shirts!"

That could mean only one thing: she managed to make contact with the knife. I hope to God she didn't cut anything more than the shirt. It can be replaced. Murdock can't.

He chants in a singsong voice, "Missed me, missed me, nah nah nah" and receives a snarl in reply. I can't believe he's taunting her. He wants to get her really pissed.

No time to find my pants and get them on. I use the couch to push myself up onto my feet only to wobble and fall back down again on the white bearskin, my head reeling with dizziness.

There's more scuffling sounds in the next room and then a howl of pain. Not from Murdock, I realize with relief.

Both of them are still fighting when someone knocks on the door hard with the announcement, "Maintenance!"

I know that voice. How are they going to get in without a key? B. A. can knock it down but that will attract attention and maybe a call to the police.

If I could get to the door . . . I prop myself up on my elbows, determined to try.

As I muster my strength, Murdock staggers from the other room to the door and unlocks it.

I catch a glimpse of Hannibal with B. A. behind him before I sink back onto the rug. Black spots pepper my vision.

Then I hear quick footsteps and a loud thud as someone topples to the floor.


	18. Chapter 18 Attack

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

She's just a devil woman With evil on her mind.  
Beware the devil woman She's gonna get you.  
From _Devil Woman_ by Cliff Richard

Chapter 18 Attack

I'm the one with the gun. All she's got is a knife. But if I shoot 'gain, I'm gonna hafta shoot t' kill. She's a'ready shown me she ain' gonna stop.

I'm stronger'n she is. 'N' Nam gave me a li'l 'xperience wrestlin' a knife outta the enemy's hand. I got combat trainin'; she hasn'. So I let her get closer . . .

"If that was all the better you can do . . . " Her smile's pure evil now. I can't b'lieve she ain' feelin' the pain o' that gunshot wound. Evil 'n' adrenaline mus' be keepin' her from collapsin'.

"I can do better'n that. Much better. Ya wanna find out how much better?" I'm tryin' t' provoke her. I want her as far 'way from my buddy as possible. So I back into her bedroom, keepin' the gun pointed at her.

'N' she keeps comin'. She thinks she knows me, thinks I won' shoot 'gain. She realizes I'm a witness, no matter how crazy, 'n' she can't have me talk.

"As soon as I get done slicing and dicing you into little pieces, I'll finish off that bastard out there," she hisses. She's gripping the knife so tightly I can see her white knuckles.

I feel a bit of Hannibal's jazz guidin' my moves. "Well, come 'ere 'n' get me." Plasterin' my craziest grin on my face, I beckon t' her with the pointer finger o' my left hand, then flash her my middle finger. "That's for you, ya witch. Go ride yer broomstick."

She screams somethin' so primal I'd think she was a hellcat straight from the Pit. Lungin' at me, slashin' with the blade, she's a whirlwind o' fury. She manages t' rip the front o' my t-shirt, neatly dividin' the words "Think Nuts" printed in dark brown on the front, 'n' leaves a gash in my skin. Blood wells up along the wound and b'gins t' trickle down my belly in sev'ral places. Don' have time t' figure out how deep it is but it hurts like hell.

"Hey!" I yell. "That was one o' my fav'rite shirts!" I ignore the searin' pain 'n' focus on the knife. Back 'n' forth, side t' side, she fans it. In a deadly sorta way, it's hypnotic. Then she swipes at me 'gain but I sidestep 'er. She misses my chest by no more'n a few inches. Too close a call.

Maybe I shouldn' do it, but I taunt 'er t' keep 'er rage directed at me. If she's tryin' t' kill _me_ , she ain' gonna be thinkin' 'bout _Face_. Maybe he'll come t' his senses 'nough t' escape.

"Missed me, missed me, nah nah nah." I stick out my tongue at 'er for good measure.

Snarlin' in a totally unladylike way, she jabs at me 'n' misses 'gain.

There's more 'n one way t' use a gun as a weapon. B'fore she can draw her hand 'way, I swing the butt of the gun 'n' hit her 'cross the knuckles hard. She yowls in pain. I follow that up by grippin' her wrist 'n' twistin' it t' make her drop the blade.

But she doesn' drop it. She rotates slightly 'n' drives her elbow into my ribs. I feel somethin' move inside. That ain' good when one o' your ribs're cracked a'ready.

She follows that up with a slash 'cross the back of my hand that loosens my grasp on 'er.

I'm a dead man. A quick thought hits me. If it wasn' so true, I'd be laughin' at the irony.

 _If the bomb don' get ya, your evil shrink will._

A hard rappin' on her 'partment door freezes both o' us for a second. She stares at me with wild eyes b'fore glancin' t'ward the sound.

"Maintenance!"

I know that voice. It _ain_ ' the buildin' maintenance guy.

From somewhere in my mind comes the thought "The cavalry's arrived." She don' know who it is but her hesitation gives me the time I need.

I stagger to her wicker laundry hamper, toss the lid 'n' overturn it on her head. Pressin' it down hard as I can over her shoulders, I buy myself 'nough time t' grab the knife from her hand 'n' run t' the door. I gotta stick both weapons in one hand t' answer the repeated knockin'. I a'most fumble 'n' drop the gun. Blood streams down my hand 'n' drips from my knuckles.

She screams muffled cuss words as she struggles t' get the hamper off her. Jus' as she does, I throw the deadbolt 'n' open the door t' Hann'bal 'n' B. A.

"What took ya so long, guys?" I wheeze, handing both weapons to Hann'bal. B'fore I can step 'side t' let 'em in, there's the sound of footsteps rapidly approachin' me from b'hind. I hear B. A.'s growled warnin' 'n' half-turn t' see what he sees.

She dives at my knees, wrappin' her arms 'round my legs, tacklin' me t' the floor. I feel the rib move a li'l more.

Now my chest hurts 'n' I can't take nothin' but short breaths. Maybe it's her body layin' on top o' me. Don' wanna think 'bout what else it could be.

I hear the door bein' closed. My face is t' the floor. I can't see what's goin' on 'til her weight is lifted from me. It doesn' help my breathin'. Crap!

"Miss Wainwright, I presume?" Hannibal is b'side me, helpin' me roll over 'n' carefully sittin' me up 'gainst the wall beside the now closed door. "Take care of her, B. A."

I watch as the mudsucker rips an extension cord from its outlet 'n' neatly ties her wrists b'hind 'er. She's still snappin' 'n' snarlin'. I'm surprised she don' get hold o' him 'n' bite 'im good.

"Get her feet, too," Hannibal mutters. "Then see how Face is."

B. A. takes the rest o' the cord, bends her knees 'n' hogties 'er. He moves over t' the fake bearskin rug where my buddy lays semi-conscious. I notice it ain' in its place by the French doors. The thought hits me: he was tryin' t' get in the fight t' help me.

The Colonel turns his 'ttention back t' me. Takin' in the bloody t-shirt I'm wearin' 'n' the way I'm breathin', he shakes his head. "You need to go to the hospital."

"Nuh uh, Colonel. Nothin' doin'." I glance over at Face. "Gotta make sure . . . " My voice trails off. I don' have the breath t' say more.

Footsteps in the hallway draw Hann'bal's gaze. Moments later, the door opens, then closes 'gain. "Glad you could make it, Richter."

"What the hell happened?" Now the doc's on the other side o' me. I can see him scan my bleedin' wound 'n' the bruisin' 'round my eye 'n' cheek. He's furious. Not with me. With Hann'bal.

I don't have 'nough breath t' 'xplain. Suddenly I feel very tired. But they gotta know 'bout her journal 'n' get it 'n' my buddy outta here b'fore the cops 'r the medics get here.

I wave my hand t'ward her bedroom. "In the drawer . . . by the bed . . . she's got a diary. Tells everythin'."

Hannibal gets to his feet, disappears into the room and returns with the journal. He scans the photo, turnin' it over in his hand, readin' the writin' on the back, b'fore givin' me a grim nod.

"Listen, Smith. I'm going to have to call an ambulance. The sooner the better." Doc Richter is examinin' the cuts on my hand 'n' abdomen. Tearin' two pieces off o' my shirt he wads one and presses it 'gainst the back o' my hand. "Hold that while I tie it in place." Irritated, he glances up at the Colonel. "If you're here when they get here . . . "

"I understand," Hannibal answers. Movin' over t' Face, he mutters somethin' t' him that makes my buddy grimace. Noddin' at B. A., the Colonel says, "Go get the van. Park it in the back. Then get up here as fast as you can."

B. A. don' need no more than that order t' get movin'. He gives me a single look as he goes 'n' I see a scowl form. Somehow I know it ain' for me.

"Be back soon as I can, li'l brother," he mumbles as he passes through the door.

I nod but he's already gone.

Hann'bal's busy scannin' through the witch's journal. Every so often he gives her a look that'd make even B. A. cringe if he was here. B. A. gives him 'nough time t' get a real good picture of what she was up to.

She sneers at 'im. There ain' anythin' else she can do. Ever since I lured her 'way from my best friend, she ain' looked at him once. It's like he don' exist anymore.

"So this was all about revenge, huh?" Hann'bal looks at the photo 'gain. "Your sister?" He flashes the picture at my ex-shrink.

"Pam was going to be a model. She believed him when he said he had a major ad campaign lined up that she was perfect for. All she was was another one night stand." She spits out the words 'n' my buddy groans softly.

"I don't remember her. Honest, Hannibal." It's a weak d'fense. Even I don' b'lieve him.

He's saved from havin' t' explain anythin' more. B. A. pushes open the door 'n' nods at Hann'bal. "Ready ta go, Colonel."


	19. Chapter 19 Escape

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

I've been racing the clock

And I've run out of steam

I am ready for my final symphony

Oh, my body is weak

But my soul is still strong

I am ready to rest in your arms.

From _Black Swan Song_ by Athlete

Chapter 19 Escape

Soon as the Big Guy gets back, Hann'bal gets 'em on the move.

"Give us ten minutes before you call the ambulance and the police. Just ten minutes. Okay, Doc?" Hannibal motions for B. A. t' help 'im place my buddy smack dab in the center of that fake white bearskin rug. He doesn' wait for my shrink's answer, jus' keeps movin'.

I wonder for only a moment 'bout why he'd tell Richter t' call an ambulance. Must be for _her_. Or did I miss somethin'?

He wouldn't leave me b'hind. I know he wouldn't. I can tell he's a'ready got a plan t' get us outta here.

"Sooner would be better, Smith." Doc Richter's tone is grim as he finishes examinin' the cut on my abdomen and checks the makeshift bandage around my hand. "He's showing signs of cyanosis."

B. A. frowns at Richter. "What d'ya mean?"

My shrink lets out a frustrated sigh. "It means his lips and nail beds are getting a bluish tinge. He hasn't been taking in enough air to get oxygen to the cells. You need to leave as soon as possible so I can call for help."

I glance at B. A. The look on his face . . . it's as close as he'll come t' admittin' he's worried 'bout me.

I'll help 'em, maybe prove t' the Doc that I don' need no ambulance. Heck, this ain' nothin' Hann'bal ain' patched up b'fore. 'Cept for the rib that keeps makin' my chest hurt. But that can be fixed with lotsa rest . . . I hope.

"We'll go soon's we can, Doc," I mutter, determined not t' be left b'hind. I move t' try 'n' get t' my feet but Doc fixes me with a strict look. He plants both his hands on my shoulders 'n' makes me sit back down 'gain.

"Not you. Them. This is not negotiable. If you do much more moving around, you might puncture a lung. Tell him, Smith."

"I'm afraid he's right, Captain. You need to be treated by real medics and go to a real hospital. We can't take you along." He avoids lookin' at me. 'Fraid I'll see how hard it was for him t' say those words.

"We will, however, take this diary and photo with us. We don't want her statements to the police to be backed up in any way. They'd start looking for us." He tucks the book and picture in his uniform pocket. "We'll also be taking this gun." He gives it t' Face for safe keepin'. I notice the cold disapproval in his eyes as he notes how li'l my buddy has on. Kinda tells 'im exactly what he was doin' here b'sides jus' disobeyin' a direct order.

Meg strains 'gainst the cord 'round her wrists 'n' ankles. She snarls at me like I was the one that caused all o' this. "If only you'd eaten the food I left for you," she hisses.

I don' know if anyone else knows what she means by that but I do. I wonder if she meant t' put me t' sleep with it 'r kill me. Not gonna ask 'er t' find out.

She sneers at me. "All that time over in Nam and you're so afraid to die?"

Somethin' 'bout the words 'n' the way she says 'em makes the mem'ries o' the bomb 'n' my days tied up next to it surface. I coulda died . . . I a'most did . . . With the mem'ry comes the beginnin's of a panic attack. As my breaths get quicker, my chest hurts somethin' fierce.

It's a good thing havin' a shrink close by that knows ya real well. Doc sees what's goin' on with me, starts coachin' me like I was a gal in labor. "Calm down, Murdock. Take nice slow breaths. Try to fill your lungs with each one."

I try to take in a deeper breath. It hurts like hell. He sees how hard it is for me but keeps tellin' me t' breathe deep. The pain's 'bout t' drive me outta my mind.

Must be real funny t' watch me struggle for breath 'cause I hear her laugh. "Did I take your breath away, Captain?"

Hann'bal ain' gonna let her continue t' taunt me. He grabs a plastic apple from a bowl o' fake fruit on the coffee table 'n' forces it in Meg's mouth. "Hasn't anyone ever told you not to talk with your mouth full, lady?" He returns to Face's side as she glares at him.

Doc frowns his disapproval. He ain' seen how we gotta deal with bad guys, 'r in this case, a bad woman. Sometimes ya gotta do what ya gotta do . . . 'specially with mean mouthy ones like Meg Wainwright.

"How're we gonna get Faceman outta the building without bein' seen, Hann'bal?" B. A. asks.

Good question.

"Oh, we'll be seen, Sergeant. No one will think anything's strange if two maintenance men carry a rug out to be professionally cleaned." He looks at Face and adds, "We have to roll you up in this thing. We'll be as careful as we can. Try not to make a sound."

Face nods his agreement but not b'fore he catches my eyes. There's regret 'n' apology mixed with pain in that look.

Then B. A. wraps the rug around my buddy's head, the last part o' him t' be hidden, 'n' they're ready t' go.

"I'll be in touch, Richter. As soon as we're someplace safe, I'll call you." Hann'bal didn' hafta add why he'd be callin'. He's gonna check on me.

They move t'ward the door, the rolled up rug b'tween 'em. "As soon as I know where you are, Captain . . . " Hann'bal's words trail off. He fixes me with a concerned look. "This is the only way. You know that."

"Jus' . . . go, guys . . . Doc here'll . . . keep . . . me . . . comp'ny . . . " I paste a weak smile on my face. "I'll . . . live t' . . . fly 'gain." The effort t' talk took all o' my energy. I sag slightly 'gainst the Doc but cover it by givin' the Colonel a sloppy salute.

He smirks briefly at my words. From the confines of the rug I think I hear Face say somethin' like "I'm sorry, Murdock."

Then Hann'bal opens the door 'n' they're gone.

"It's a'right, buddy," I whisper.

oooooo

We carry our load toward the elevator. Before we can get there a wrinkled woman with gray hair tinged light blue from one too many dye jobs enters. We squeeze in beside her.

I smile at her. "Nice evening."

She sniffs and looks away. The pomeranian she's holding yips sharply as she clutches it tighter to her bosom. As soon as the elevator stops and the door slides open, she exits in a hurry without looking back. Snob.

"This way," B. A. directs. We head down a hallway to the rear of the building.

No one else sees us as we leave through the exit and take Face and the rug to the waiting van.

We lay Face on the floor behind the front seats. He almost immediately struggles to pull back the rug from his face. His level of pain is apparent from the low groan that escapes him. He squeezes his eyes shut, his teeth gritted.

As B. A. gets behind the wheel, I remember something. "Wait for me. I'll be back in a minute."

Working my way around the exterior of the building, I soon find what I'm looking for. The orange cat lies with arched back and unseeing eyes where we last saw him. The gaping mouth, lips drawn back in a snarl, still has foamy spittle mixed with blood around it. I pick up the still-warm body and carry it to the van.

Placing it at Face's feet, I get into my own seat, ignoring his look of puzzlement and disgust.

I won't tell him what that's all about. I can't right now or I'll lose my temper.

As it turns out, I don't have to. B. A. shakes his head and mutters, "If the fool hadn't caught on ta what she was up to, that woulda been him."

I glance back at Face. Realizing what B. A. meant, he has visibly paled.

"She asked me to warm up some food she left for him. I didn't know . . . " His voice is shaky. He knows he almost killed his best friend.

"Just shut up, Lieutenant." I don't want to hear any explanations or excuses.

"Where to, Colonel?" B. A.'s scowl has deepened.

I massage the bridge of my nose for a moment, my eyes closed.

We don't have any more time. I come to a decision. "Just drive, B. A. Put a few miles between us and this neighborhood."

Face protests, "But Murdock . . . "

"Will have to work with Richter to come up with a good story to explain why they're at Miss Wainwright's apartment and why it was necessary to restrain her. Something that doesn't implicate you."

With that, tense silence fills the van, giving me time to think. Who can I trust to treat Face's wound?

It takes a few minutes but I come up with a name. When we get far enough away, I'll make the call.


	20. Chapter 20 Vengeance Is

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

Doctor doctor, please

Don't you know I'm going fast

Doctor doctor, please

Don't you know I just can't last

She walked up to me and really stole my heart

And then she started to tear my body apart.

From _Doctor Doctor_ by Iron Maiden

Chapter 20 Vengeance Is

Doc tries his best t' make me comfy but he keeps insistin' I gotta breathe as deeply as I can.

"It hurts bad," I gasp after one of 'em. I glance at Meg 'n' see a glint in her eye like she's real glad 'bout my pain. At least she can't gloat out loud with that fake apple in 'er mouth.

"Focus. Try to think past the pain." Doc obviously ain' been wounded b'fore 'r he wouldn' even say somethin' like that. I can see he's gettin' impatient. He checks the time on 'is wristwatch. "How many minutes do you think they've been gone?"

It gives me somethin' t' think 'bout. "I don' know," I whisper. "Not long . . . 'nough." Somethin' comes t' me, somethin' 'portant we gotta do. "We gotta . . . have a . . . story for . . . the cops."

Doc jumps at the chance t' get my mind off the pain o' breathin'. "What do you suggest?" He pauses, then adds, "But keep breathing while you think."

"Well . . . can't let 'em . . . know anyone . . . else was here . . . I know . . . She kidnapped me . . . " If it wouldn' hurt so bad, I'd have a good ol' belly laugh at the look on my shrink's face.

"We lie? But that's . . . " he stops 'n' I see him searchin' 'round for the right word.

Maybe I should help him out? Yeah . . . why not. "Unprofessional?" I smile weakly at his nod. Then I get serious. He's gotta know how much it means t' me. "Look . . . if we don' . . . my friends'll . . . get caught . . . they'll b'lieve 'er . . . "

"I agree, but I can't. The cops will know I'm lying."

I sigh 'n' immediately regret it. Gritting my teeth, I manage t' say, "Then let me . . . do the talkin'."

"What should I say?" He wants t' help the guys. I can see that.

"As li'l as possible . . . ya tell 'em I . . . have delusions . . . tell 'em I'm . . . paranoid . . . crazy . . . got problems . . . r'memberin' . . . "

"Okay." He accepts what I say like I'm the authority on knowin' how t' get outta situations like this. "As soon as they get here?"

"You'll know when . . . jus' let me do . . . my thing first . . . "

"Your thing?" He doesn' understan'. If I play this right, he might b'lieve my act himself.

"You'll see . . . " I catch his wrist in my hand 'n' turn it t' check the time on his watch. Swallowin', I mutter, "It's time . . . Make the call."

oooooo

"Okay, B. A. You can pull over anywhere around here." I have the phone in my hand even before he parks the van along the road. We're on the Pacific Coast Highway in the vicinity of the Santa Monica Pier. As the phone on the other end rings, I idly watch a young couple wade ankle-deep, hand in hand, in the surf.

"Hello?"

The voice is gravelly and impatient. It sounds like him but I have to be sure.

"Aldo? Aldo Stinozza?" I hope he hasn't changed addresses since the last time we worked together. Some of us who spent time in Nam don't have a good track record of staying in one place for long.

"This is Stinozza. Who is this?" I can sense him trying to remember where he heard my voice before. It's been a year since we worked together.

"Most people in the business know me as the Aquamaniac. You've been the on-set doctor for my last two movies." The director and everyone else knows me by an alias. Because I helped Aldo to get and remain sober after Nam, he knows exactly who I am. I helped him get the Aquamaniac gig, too.

In short, he owes me.

"John? My God, it's been . . . how long?" He sounds genuinely happy to hear my voice. "Glad to report I'm still sober. I've got you to thank for that."

"I was glad to help." I hesitate, not sure how to ask for his assistance.

"You called because you need me to do something." He makes it easier for me, sensing the urgency of the situation in my voice.

"Yeah." I rub my eyes. It's not natural for me to ask for assistance from anyone.

"And it requires someone who knows their way around a first aid kit?" He hasn't lost his sense of humor.

"A bit more than that. One of the guys got wounded . . . " I look back at Face and give him a look that makes him flinch. ". . . in a fight. It's not so bad we need a hospital emergency room but it will require a qualified doctor to take care of it."

"Got it. One of your team?"

"Yeah. Can you help us?"

He doesn't hesitate at all. "I'll take a look and see what I can do." He lives in an apartment on Colfax Avenue in North Hollywood. I write down the address he gives me.

All this time, B. A. has been listening to only my side of the conversation. When I hang up and sit back in my seat, he gives me a questioning frown and glances at the piece of paper in my hand.

"We ain' walkin' into a trap, are we?"

"No. No trap. He's a good friend." I think of our first meeting in Nam at Camp Evans. "He won't turn us in."

oooooo

As Doc 'n' me wait for the ambulance I try 'n' think through what I gotta do.

Soon as the cops r'lease Meg, she's gonna come after Face 'gain. We gotta make it so they give her plenty o' time t' cool off in jail.

A kidnappin' charge should do it. 'Specially if she's kidnapped a mentally ill vulnerable adult. 'N' I know how tt' play that, don' I?

So . . . I gotta balance myself b'tween reality 'n' the crazy side o' my paranoia. Slip t' one side 'n' they'll see through me . . . slip t' the other side 'n' Doc'll hafta prescribe heavy meds, a straight jacket 'n' a padded room for a while.

I hear sirens approachin' . . . very li'l time t' prepare what I'm gonna say . . .

I glance at Meg . . . she still thinks she's won. Her sudden quiet 'n' that victorious gleam in 'er eye tells me that.

Well, I'll show 'er. She's won nothin'.

Too bad. Vengeance is a bitch, lady. It turns two ways.


	21. Chapter 21 The Doctor Is In

The One With the Gun

AN: The character Major Aldo Stinozza appears in Chapter 37 of my story 'Morale.' I worked five days in a row with each of the last two days being ten hours of cleaning hotel rooms. If not for that, this would have been written and posted sooner. My apologies.

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television show or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

Some lie about who they love

Some lie about the truth

Some lie to save their lives

Some lie about their youth

From _Lies_ by Elton John

Chapter 21 The Doctor Is In

Stinozza is waiting for us in the parking area of the apartment building when we arrive.

"Just stay here with Face, B. A. I want to talk to him before he gets to see his patient." I don't wait for him to acknowledge the order. B. A. is a good soldier. He follows orders . . . unlike someone else I know. I walk quickly over the few yards between us.

Aldo has a grim expression as he greets me. "What is this all about, John? Where's your wounded man?"

I glance back at the black van. "He's in the rear passenger area. He didn't have time to dress but we brought his clothing along."

Aldo raises one eyebrow in conspiratorial amusement. "Jealous husband?"

If only it were that easy to explain. I shake my head and lead him by the elbow toward his patient. "That's a story I'll have to save for later. He's still bleeding and I don't know how serious the wound is. Not life-threatening is my guess but it does need treatment."

I open the side door and let Aldo make an initial assessment. Face gives me a pained look and I know it's not completely from the knife wound. He's self-conscious about being caught, as it were, with his pants down. Too bad.

Aldo glances at me in disbelief for only a moment before sitting in the door of the van to examine the injured thigh. Face grips the fake fur of the bearskin rug and squeezes his eyes shut as my friend moves the leg for a better look at the wound.

"Last time I saw you, you had a badly infected gash in your lower abdomen from an encounter with a punji stick." He peers at the white scar and smiles briefly. "I can see _that_ wound healed nicely. What was it this time?"

Face sucks in a sharp breath as the doctor probes at the wound. "Very angry woman with a very sharp knife," I answer for him.

"That would do it." Aldo sighs and rubs his mouth before standing up. "I can't do anything out here. Too many eyes to see what we're doing. And unless you have some kind of sedative . . . "

That's the good thing about being on the run. You have to be well-stocked in case of any emergency.

It also helps if your resident mechanic doesn't take well to flying.

"If you don't have it, we probably do, Doc."

He eyes the rug, then looks at me and the maintenance coveralls I'm wearing. "Let me guess. That was the way you got him out to the van so no one saw him and questioned you about it."

I nod.

"Well." He cracks a small smile. "I always wanted a bearskin rug. The bloodstains are going to be murder to get out but what the hell? Wrap him up and I'll show you where to deliver it."

I grin, appreciating Aldo's sense of humor. Motioning to B. A., I begin to fold the rug over Face.

He groans softly. "Aw, Hannibal. Is this really necessary?"

Just before I cover his head, I respond. "Yes."

B. A. and I pick up our burden once again and follow my friend into the building and to his apartment.

oooooo

I really don' wanna hear anythin' more from that witch but the cops might not understan' seein' her with that plastic apple in her mouth. It's bad 'nough her bein' hogtied like she is. Seems a li'l extreme.

But then she'd likely rip both o' our heads off 'n' eat 'em for lunch if she wasn'.

Doc doesn' understan' what I'm up to when I slowly begin movin' 'round. "I thought I told you to stay still."

I shake my head. "Then _you_ take . . . the apple . . . outta her mouth . . . But watch . . . out for her . . . teeth."

He stares at me like I was crazy 'r somethin'. But he does what I say 'n' narrowly escapes gettin' one of his fingers bitten.

I see how much o' the fake fruit she's gnawed off. I can't help tauntin' her.

"Hungry?"

She lets out a string o' descriptive rude words that shouldn' ever come outta a woman's mouth.

"That'd be . . . the kinda . . . stuff Gramma'd . . . use soap on . . . " I comment jus' t' maybe shut 'er up. Shoulda known it wouldn' work on someone like her.

"Your Gramma?" She sniffs. "How proud would your Gramma be if she knew where you've lived for the last ten years? She hasn't come to visit you, has she? Maybe she's too ashamed to say you're her grandson?" She sneers at me, not 'fraid o' what I could do t' her.

"My Gramma 'n' Grampa . . . were good people . . . " I gulp in a breath and feel my chest tighten. She doesn' know they're both dead but I still don' like what she's sayin' 'bout them. "They wouldn' leave one o' their own 'lone . . . "

She interrupts me b'fore I can finish.

"Oh?" Her mockin' tone scratches me inside like a cat's claws. "Then maybe they're crazier than you are."

At the same time, Doc Richter places a hand on my left forearm, grips it lightly as if t' keep me 'ware he's there. "Murdock, don't listen to her."

I pull 'way from him. Our eyes lock, hers 'n' mine, 'n' I can't help thinkin' she mus' be a witch, 'cause she don' seem scared at all.

"My gran'parents're . . . dead. 'N' you got . . . no business talkin' . . . 'bout them." I keep my tone low 'n' threatenin'. It's a threat I _will_ carry out if she keeps it up.

I hear faint sirens in the distance, comin' closer, but that's drowned out by her tauntin' voice.

"Awww," she purrs. "So did they die of senility or the _humiliation_ of having a _looney_ as a grandson?"

I force myself up on my feet. No 'mount o' pain I feel in my ribs is gonna compare t' what _she's_ gonna feel. She's got _no right_ talkin' 'bout them that way.

Richter stands behin' me. His hands grasp my elbows tightly. He pulls me back with more strength than I figured he was capable of.

He mutters in my ear, "Stop! Don't you see what's she's doing? _You're_ the one with the bruises on your face and God knows where else. _You're_ the one with the cuts on your hand and across your abdomen. _You're_ the one having difficulty breathing. _Her_ only injury is that flesh wound to her shoulder. She _wants_ you to do something to her so she can claim _you_ attacked _her_. If you start hurting her and they have to subdue you, it'll back up her claim."

I know he's right. I don' want 'im t' be right 'cause I want her t' hurt as bad as she hurt Face . . . as bad as she hurt _me_.

There's a tremendous knockin' at the door 'n' the words "Police! Open up!"

Doc clutches me tighter for a moment, whisperin' t' me. "I have to answer it. I'll let you go if you promise to leave her alone. Let _them_ take care of her."

I push all o' my anger back down in that secret place Doc's never been able t' open in all our sessions. Noddin', I wait 'til he r'leases me 'n' steps over t' open the door. Then I make my move.


	22. Chapter 22 Crazy Is As Crazy Does

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

Mental wounds not healing

Life's a bitter shame

I'm going off the rails on a crazy train . . .

. . . Mental wounds still screaming

Driving me insane

I'm going off the rails on a crazy train

From _Crazy Train_ by Ozzy Osbourne

Chapter 22 Crazy Is As Crazy Does

As I lead the way to my apartment, I'm aware John's black companion is not sure of me. Does he think I'd turn them in for a few bucks?

No way will I do that. Not after all John and Murdock together did for me. But there is going to have to be some degree of trust if I have to sedate the young man hidden in the bearskin rug.

His name escapes me even though I treated him all those years ago over there at Camp Evans. Maybe it's better I don't know. Like John, he's a fugitive, wanted by our own government. And, I believe, innocent.

I think he remembers me from Nam. He should. Secondary peritonitis had developed by the time I saw him. His abdominal wound was quickly becoming septic. If not for our quick intervention, his organs would have begun to shut down.

To tell the truth, I was more than a little relieved to see all he had from that incident was a scar. It could have been worse. Much worse.

All this runs through my mind as I open my apartment door to let John and his brooding companion enter with their 'delivery.'

Pushing the memory of the stinking gaping wound and the prolonged debridement and surgery to repair it out of my mind, I paste on a smile before turning toward them.

I can see that John knows exactly what I was thinking about. "You alright, Aldo?"

"Yeah. Why shouldn't I be?" I wipe a sleeve across my mouth, a habit from my drinking days I can't seem to shake. John scrutinizes me and nods thoughtfully.

"You gonna fix our friend." I couldn't tell if the single sentence, the first I heard the black man speak since their arrival, was an order or a question.

I vaguely remember him, too, now that I think about it. After a while over there, I tried not to personalize any of my encounters with my patients. There was too much suffering and death that weighed on my heart as it was.

"He's the best surgical doctor I ever met over in Nam, B. A. He won't screw it up." John is fast to reassure his companion. He gazes at me again, perhaps to be sure I really want to go ahead with it. The one called B. A. growls under his breath.

Now I remember the black man. He wasn't going to take no for an answer when they wanted news of their friend's condition. He hasn't changed from that first encounter I had with him. Better to stay on his good side . . . if he has one.

I suddenly realize I haven't told them where they can set the rug with its human cargo.

Tossing the army blanket and bed pillow off the couch, I gesture for them to make my patient comfortable.

I sleep on that couch too many nights when I have to depend on the television to put me to sleep. It prevents my nightmares from tormenting me. The white noise that comes on at the end of a broadcasting day is my friend. If I can find an all-night cartoon channel, it's better. It drives away images of dying soldiers with bleeding stumps for legs or shredded skin for faces.

"Like I said, I don't have the type of sedative here that I should have to reduce his pain when I start to work on his leg." Finding something to say is better than thinking too deeply.

"That's . . . al . . . right, Doc," my patient mutters from the couch. "Don't han . . . dle meds . . . very well . . . Got any . . . whiskey?"

John shoots me an inquisitive look. We haven't seen each other for so long, he doesn't know if I've started drinking again or not.

I straighten myself to full height and push back my shoulders. "I'm sorry. I don't keep any alcohol in the place."

John pulls out a syringe from one of his pockets. In his other hand is a small vial.

"It's novocain." He hands the syringe and vial to me. "Is it possible to numb the area around the wound enough so his pain level won't be unbearable?"

I glance at my patient who is shaking his head and struggling to sit up. "No . . . no drugs." He ignores me and talks directly to his CO. "She . . . drugged me . . . You don't . . . know what . . . "

John frowns at the young man, then turns to me. "She must have slipped him something for her to get the drop on him like that. We don't know if anything we give him will interact in a negative way with that."

I return the syringe and vial and sigh. "I guess we could do it the way they did it in the Old West."

"By bitin' a bullet?" B. A. scowls at the thought. My friend doesn't seem too eager to follow that idea either.

"In my . . . jacket. My . . . handkerchief . . . " the young man says, sinking back onto the couch.

John grimaces but digs in the jacket pocket and hands him the cloth.

"Do what . . . you have to . . . Doc," my patient says, waiting until I start to probe the wound before clamping his teeth down hard on the rolled handkerchief.

Moments later, John removes the cloth from his unconscious friend's mouth and I finish cleansing and stitching his leg.

oooooo

As I open the door to the police officer's command, I hear movement behind me. Before I can say his name, Murdock pushes past me and grabs the officer by the shoulders. The cop wasn't ready for the sudden attack and places his hand on his gun.

"Murdock, don't!" I warn him. I don't know what he's doing. Maybe he doesn't either and that makes the situation like a ticking bomb.

"Please . . . please . . . don' let 'er get . . . hold o' me 'gain!" Murdock's voice has turned frantic, pleading. I look at him with a degree of shock that he switched from anger to desperation in such a short period of time.

The cop pushes him back to get a good view of the apartment and all of us and maybe to remove his gun from its holster. Violently trembling, Murdock falls to his knees and wraps his arms around the officer's legs, hugging them so fiercely, the side of his face pressed close to the cop's lower thighs, that the man can't move. His eyes are squeezed shut and tears trickle down his cheek. Small sobs escape from him. I've never heard or seen him in such an emotional state.

"She's a witch," he gasps, peering up at the red-faced officer. "Ya . . . gotta b'lieve . . . me."

The effort to speak must be hurting him quite a bit. He whimpers before wheezing, "She kidnapped me . . . wanted me t' . . . be a human sacrifice."

Was this Murdock's plan? They aren't going to believe she's . . . then I understand what he's trying to do and what I'm supposed to say.

The officer attempts to push Murdock away again. His partner is already in the process of untying my ex-colleague.

"Don't listen to him!" she snarls. "He's one of the lunatic veterans at the Westwood VA Hospital where I work."

"Used to work," I mutter.

No one hears me as she continues to get louder. "He's one of my patients. He came here and tried to rape me. How was I _supposed_ to defend myself?"

The first cop manages to extricate himself from Murdock's grip. My patient crumples to the floor, his arms covering his face. He lays on his side, curled in a fetal position, and repeats the words "She's a witch" under his breath several times. The cop stares down at him in disbelief and focuses on me. I'm the only one who seems sane, I guess.

"Maybe you can shed some light on all of this?" he probes.

Murdock doesn't seem to hear or see any of us. He babbles on, his voice muffled by his arms, about spells, cauldrons, black cats and potions. If it's an act, it's a damn good one.

Meg Wainwright shrieks curse words at Murdock and tries to lunge toward him but the second cop grabs her. Forcing her arms behind her, he barely holds onto her as she struggles to get free.

Seeing that, I know I'd better talk fast. "My name is Doctor A. M. Richter. I'm one of the psychiatrists on staff on the Westwood VA Hospital's mental health wing. Captain Murdock has been one of the residents and my patient for over ten years."

"Can you explain how he came to be here in this apartment? And, for that matter, how _you_ came to be here?"

The second cop is having quite a difficult time restraining Miss Wainwright. She tries to twist enough in his arms to bite him and when that fails, she kicks his shins. Thankfully, he bears the injuries well and tightens his hold. I hope she continues. It doesn't help her case.

"I got suspicious about the number of times my colleague here signed Captain Murdock out over the last two months under the guise of clinical trials. Each time he returned to the ward after one of these clinical trials he manifested more symptoms of delusional paranoia than before. He told me a witch had been visiting him in his dreams. I started checking her credentials and have reason to believe she is not who she claimed to be." I cringe a little as the woman lets an unearthly rage-filled scream escape her. She arches her back in a way that has to hurt. I almost start believing she is either very flexible or Murdock is right about what she is.

"Go on." The first cop nods at me, only briefly glancing at her. I can't imagine he's seen anything like _this_ before but maybe he has.

"This time, Captain Murdock was gone from the ward for five days, longer than any of the other times. I came here to find out what was going on. I heard a gun go off. The next moment, I heard him begging for his life. I tried the door and found it unlocked. Just as I entered, I saw Miss Wainwright here standing over Captain Murdock with a knife. She had already slashed him twice. If I hadn't stopped her, there's no telling what else she would have done."

By the time I finish, I realize I don't hear Murdock saying anything, just gasping in short breaths. "Look. My patient might have a broken rib besides the cuts she inflicted. He definitely needs medical attention."

For the first time, the police officer seems to take note of Murdock's bruises, bloody t-shirt and bandaged hand. "The ambulance is on its way." He pauses, scanning my patient's condition more closely. "I suppose trying to get a statement from _him_ is out of the question."

"Definitely," I answer as I go to his side.


	23. Chapter 23 Delusions Too Real For Words

The One With the Gun

AN: Maybe one or two more chapters and this one will be a wrap. Thanks for reading along and for all of your comments. It's encouraging to know folks like what I've written.

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

Welcome to my nightmare,

I think you're gonna like it,

I think you're gonna feel you belong.

A nocturnal vacation, unnecessary sedation,

You want to feel at home 'cause you belong.

From _Welcome To My Nightmare_ by Alice Cooper

Chapter 23 Delusions Too Real for Words

 _I lay on a beach, frozen in place, sand coverin' all but the upper half o' my chest, my arms 'n' my head. The moon's full 'n' its reflection dances on the water. It'd be a peaceful scene 'cept I can't move 'n' that fills me with dread. Somethin's gonna happen . . . somethin' bad . . . 'n' I can't protect myself._

 _A swirlin' misty black form rises from the ocean 'n' drifts t'ward me. It skims the surface o' the water 'til it comes ashore. It disappears only to reappear, kneelin' inches from the left side o' my head._

 _All I can move's my eyes. When I do, I see who it is. If I could, I'd start runnin' 'way. But I can't even crawl._

 _Meg Wainwright smiles at my helplessness 'n' strokes my cheek with her finger. The nail, more like a claw than a fingernail, burns a path in my flesh._

 _"You thought you could get rid of me so easily? I may not have killed your friend but I'll_ always _be with you. I'll drive you crazy enough to do it yourself," she whispers. Her voice echoes inside my head._

 _Her eyes turn completely black as she bends as if t' kiss me. Her tongue darts in 'n' outta her mouth like a serpent's._

 _"I'm hungry." Her breath sears my skin with its poisoned heat. "Your friend's soul was what I wanted but yours will do just as well."_

 _She touches my lips with her forked tongue 'n' I yell . . ._

"Noooo!" I free my arm from its frozen state 'n' grab the first thin' within my reach. It feels like a warm livin' human bein' but how can I be sure? It could be her. I twist her arm as hard as I can. Give her the message I ain' gonna give in t' her so easily. Someone . . . or some _thing_ . . . yelps like a puppy gettin' kicked 'n' then . . .

"Doctor!" That was a female voice. Has the witch really followed me from my nightmare? But the tone sounded more like she was scared . . . 'n' the witch wasn' scared o' me at all.

She's answered by a voice I think I recognize. "Let Nurse Sullivan go, Captain. She's not going to hurt you."

It _could_ be Doc Richter. But is it him 'r has she disguised her voice?

My eyelids are too slow t' respond. My mouth is too dry t' let words come out. I swallow a few times but it doesn' help. Someone pries my fingers loose from the arm I've gripped.

"I'm sorry, Doctor. He was so quick and I didn't know what to do." I can hear she's moved a distance 'way from me.

"You're still new at this job. You don't get too close to a patient waking from a nightmare. It doesn't matter what we've given them to reduce their anxiety. They will still react to you as if you were in their nightmare."

I feel a straw 'gainst my mouth. At least no one's touchin' me, tryin' t' steal my soul. "Sip some of this. It'll help with the dry mouth," a male voice tells me.

I somehow manage t' part my lips 'nough. It's 7-Up. I want t' drink more but the straw's removed b'fore I can get more 'n three sips.

"Not too much yet," he says. "I don't know if your stomach will handle it."

Then he adds, but not to me, "This is the fourth nightmare since he came back to the ward. For now, I want only male orderlies to tend to Captain Murdock. No reflection on you, Nurse Sullivan, but a woman did this to him and maybe that's what's creating the bad dreams." I'm sure of it now. That's my shrink. So are we safe?

The nurse answers with an obedient but sad-sounding "Yes, Doctor." I wonder why she's so sad. Is she sad for me?

I'm groggy 'n' my head's poundin' like I've had some haloperidol. They don' usually give it t' me 'less I've been aggressive t'ward 'em.

"And Nurse Sullivan?"

"Yes, Doctor?"

"Let's _not_ tell our friends in law enforcement or the military that he's awake yet. Especially not Colonel Decker. Do you understand? Not until I have an opportunity to find out what these nightmares are about. And even after I talk to Captain Murdock, Decker will _not_ be on this patient's visitors' list for a while."

"Yes, Doctor."

I hear the door swish open and click shut. For a moment, I'm 'fraid Doctor Richter's left me all 'lone here t' fight the witch.

I gotta get 'im back in here. I'm r'lieved t' find out the rest o' my body thawed out now that I'm 'wake. I guess she _didn'_ cast a spell on me . . . yet. I've gotta get t' my feet 'n' find my doctor . . . if I can figure out how t' make the connection between my brain 'n' my feet.

"Murdock?" A chair scrapes 'cross the floor 'n' I hear the air in the seat _poof_ like someone's sat down on it. "It's Richter. It's time to open your eyes if you can. No one else is here with us."

I'm awfully curious t' know where _here_ is. Last I r'member I was layin' on Meg Wainwright's livin' room floor. Openin' my eyes takes a lotta effort but I get my lids to r'spond halfway.

The doc's outline's blurry. I see wire-framed glasses 'n' li'l else o' his face. I ain' had all those sessions with him not t' recognize 'im.

"Doc?" I lick my lips 'n' he offers the straw. After a few sips, I try 'gain. "How'd we end up here?"

As I become stronger 'n' more aware of things, I realize my chest ain' achin' like it did b'fore. I lift one hand t' pull the covers down 'n' take a look but Doc stops me.

"They inserted a tube between your ribs to keep your lung from collapsing. The tube's out now. It took about forty stitches to close up that knife cut to your abdomen and another fifteen for the back of your hand." My eyesight has a'most completely cleared. I see how dead serious he is.

We sit in silence for a minute 'n' I know he's waitin' for me t' talk 'bout my nightmare.

But I don' wanna. If I describe it, won' that conjure her up t' finish the job?

"Soooo . . . how _did_ we get here?" I focus my 'ttention on the edge o' the tape holdin' the gauze in place over my hand. With the fingers of my other hand, I pick at it 'til Doc stops me with a gentle touch.

"The police came. You accused Meg Wainwright of kidnapping you to be a human sacrifice for a satanic ritual. You said she was a witch." He scrutinizes me as he always does when I'm in 'is office for a session. He's always said he thinks I know what reality is a lot more 'n I let on. Some o' the time he's right but now . . .

I shudder, r'memberin' the words she said in my dream 'n' the way she looked as she bent over me t' steal my soul . . .

"Murdock." Doc cuts through the mem'ries with that single word. I look at him 'gain, my thoughts settlin' only a li'l. How long's she gonna haunt me?

"I r'member grabbin' the cop 'n' him pushin' me back but after that . . . " I shake my head. It's true. My act b'came real when I convinced myself she was a witch. I still don' know that she _isn't_ one.

"When you didn't calm down, I had to let them sedate you. You wouldn't let them load you on the stretcher until they did. They brought you to the emergency room at the VA hospital. I had you brought back to your own room when the surgeon felt you could be moved. "

I glance 'round, finally noticin' my surroundin's. There's my arcade games, my dresser, my basketball hoop with the football in it, my other stuff . . . even my bomber jacket 'n' cap. Only thin' that's diff'rent's the bed I'm in. I don' realize I'm frownin' 'til Doc smiles.

"The only way the surgeon would let you come back on the ward was if you were in an adjustable bed. He wanted you to sleep with your upper body elevated for a while."

"'N' she's . . . ?" I can't finish the question. I'm 'fraid t' know the answer. What if this's all still a nightmare 'n' she's lurkin' somewhere on the ward waitin' 'til I'm 'lone?

" . . . Behind bars. She isn't going to hurt anyone else for a few years."

At the mention o' 'anyone else,' I think o' my best friend. Reachin' out 'n' graspin' my shrink by his shoulder, I bring 'im closer. I hafta say what I gotta say in a whisper in case Decker's bugged my room.

"Have ya heard from _them_? What's the news?" The last thin' I saw o' my buddy, he was barely dressed 'n' bleedin' out on a white bearskin rug. 'N' Hann'bal 'n' B. A. were maintenance guys gettin' ready t' carry that rug 'way t' get cleaned . . . 'r was that jus' my imagination?

God, I don' know what's real 'n' what's delusions anymore.

Doc walks over 'n' flicks on the TV. He turns the knob 'til he finds a channel with a Woody Woodpecker cartoon on it. Then he comes back to sit near me. He's a smart one. He wants t' talk freely 'n' doesn' want unauthorized ears hearin' anythin'.

I scrub my face with my uninjured hand. I feel a couple o' days' worth of stubble 'n' wonder how long I've been under.

"The nurses couldn't shave you while you were unconscious because you fought their efforts. We couldn't give you enough haloperidol to stop you from hurting them." Doc pauses t' analyze my reaction.

I sigh 'n' wipe my eyes in frustration and guilt. "I'm sorry. Didn' mean t' scare 'em. I like the gals here. They're good t' me. They treat me like I'm a'most sane."

Doc gives me that look that tells me he thinks I _am_ sane . . . mostly.

"Nurse Sullivan didn't want to leave, you know. You must be one of her favorite patients." He smiles.

"So what've ya heard 'bout the guys . . . 'bout Face?" I make a mental note t' fin' out who Nurse Sullivan is 'n' how I can make it up t' her for scarin' her so much.

"He's on the mend. The knife didn't cut into any major blood vessels but he'll walk with a cane for a few weeks."

I 'magine Face leanin' on a cane, a buncha women 'round 'im, carin' for his every need. The thought makes me smile. "More 'n likely, he'll use it for all it's worth."

"I'm sure he will. As soon as you're both able, I'll take you to my beach house for a few hours. The fresh air will do you good and you two can talk." He pauses 'n' gives me that piercin' look 'gain. "Now about those nightmares . . . "

I swallow, shakin' my head. "Can we peel that onion a li'l at a time, Doc? If I think too much 'bout _her_ I ain' gonna be able t' sleep at all." I glance at the TV 'n' smile. "Can I leave that on for the nex' few days? It'll help a lot."

He scrut'nizes me for a few more seconds, then nods. Standin' up, he crosses t' the door. "Your phone's beside the bed if you need to make a call to get some information." He gives me a knowin' look 'n' sighs when I turn t' the cartoon flashin' 'cross the screen. "Talking about last week might help you more than you think it will but I can't force you."

I wave my hand in his gen'ral direction. I like my shrink but I'm not ready . . . not yet.

"I'll be by to check on you later, Murdock." He sighs 'gain b'fore leavin' me 'lone t' my cartoons 'n' thoughts.


	24. Chapter 24 Nightmares and Guilt

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

You're guilty all the same

Too sick to be ashamed

You want to point your finger

But there's no one else to blame.

From _Guilty All the Same_ by Linkin Park

Chapter 24 Nightmares and Guilt

Three days before . . .

 _I lay on my back on a furry white surface, enjoying the view as a woman slowly approaches. She has already dropped the last of her clothing on the floor behind her. Her face is veiled, maybe to add to her mystique. Everything else about her arouses my desires. She lowers herself onto her hands and knees beside me, fully knowing the effect she is having._

 _"Close your eyes and enjoy," she purrs into my ear. I'm eager to obey, anticipating hours of pleasure with her. Minutes later I writhe in pain, my leg pinned to the floor by a knife. I can't help but open my eyes. She is still veiled but a delighted laugh comes from her. Her hand drips with my blood._

 _"I know that makes me feel good," she says, pinning back the veil to reveal Meg's expression, one of evil intent. She hisses, "The next cut is for what you did to my sister. You'll never do that to another woman again."_

 _I know what she's going to do and I'm helpless to stop her. My limbs have frozen._

 _She traces my inside thigh with the knife, leaving a thin trail of welting blood. She stops at my groin._

 _Her figure distorts. So does her face. I blink once and my surroundings and the person beside me has completely changed. I'm in a ditch on the perimeter of a rice paddy and the face leering down at me, a knife blade to my throat, is Charlie. Three more VC stand above him with their SKS rifles aimed directly at my head._

 _Fired at that distance, there would probably be nothing left of my head._

 _A dark fog descends over all of us. I don't know what's going to happen next but the fog gives me an opportunity to fight my way out. I strike out with my right fist and connect with something that feels like a semi-soft wall. My next blow with my left hits something that feels like a baseball mitt only smaller. I can't retrieve it to strike again._

"Hannibal! He's awake." That voice is familiar and within a foot of my face. I suddenly realize my first punch probably landed in the middle of B. A.'s chest. My second made it as far as his hand. If I wasn't still trying to clear my head of cobwebs, I'd be putting some distance between us. I feel my breaths coming fast and hard as if I was in an adrenaline-fueled fight-or-flight sitauation. Which I was, moments before, in my nightmare.

"Just settle down, Faceman. Yer safe. Yer safe, man."

I still haven't opened my eyes. I'm halfway between the shadows of my dream and the reality of where I am. He pins my wrists down above my head until he's sure I'm awake and aware of where I am. I've seen him have to do the same with Murdock when he wakes and tries to bolt from his worst nightmares.

And that thought makes me force my eyes open. The last thing I remember clearly of my friend is him backing into Meg's bedroom with a gun pointed at her. All the rest I know, the blueish tinge to his lips and nailbeds and the cut on his hand, came from the bits of conversation I could hear from Richter, Hannibal and Murdock himself.

Murdock sounded like he was fighting for breath every time he said anything. Richter hurried us out of there so he could make the phone call to get my buddy medical help. I was in too much delirium from the pain to know what had happened to him.

I remember saying I was sorry as the guys carried me hidden in that rug past him. That sort of thing doesn't mean much if my buddy's in bad shape. I didn't hear an answer.

Did I help to kill my best friend by taking him to Meg's apartment against Hannibal's orders?

"Bad dream, Lieutenant?" Hannibal takes a seat in the chair by the couch just vacated by B. A. He sounds distant, like he's controlling his anger but just barely.

Well, I guess I deserve it. Whatever he chooses as my punishment won't be harsh enough if Murdock is dead.

B. A. stalks over to a window and stands there, staring out. He seems tense and keeps his back to me.

He's angry, too.

"Was it Nam or something else?" Hannibal probes. I see the doctor I remember did the surgery on my leg wound. Stinozza (at least I think that's his name) offers the Colonel a steaming cup of coffee.

As Hannibal sips at the brew, he scrutinizes me. I feel like a bug under a magnifying glass.

None of us talk for several minutes.

I wish he _would_ talk. Maybe yell. The question I want to ask sticks in my throat because I'm not sure he would give me an answer if it isn't good news.

Finally I let out a frustrated sigh. "Okay. I'm guilty. I thought because she was familiar with Murdock's case file that she could help." Not the complete truth and I can see from the cold steely glint that comes into Hannibal's eyes that he doesn't believe it either.

"Murdock didn't want to be there. He didn't trust her. He wanted to return to the VA hospital." Hannibal knows how to twist the knife in my gut when he wants to make a point about my willful dereliction of duty.

"That was his paranoia talking. He was safe with me. How was I supposed to know she . . . "

"Ya don't think, Faceman!" B. A. turns to me, his face twisted in the worst scowl I've ever seen. "We had ta leave Murdock behind. Do ya get that? We left him there 'cause we had _no choice_!"

He didn't use his favorite pet nickname 'the fool' this time. He used Murdock's name. That means they're still waiting for information and maybe expecting the worst.

"Enough, B. A." Hannibal sits back, the cup balanced on his knee. His eyes bore into me. "I have to make a call to Richter but I wanted to wait until you were awake before I did."

I nod and watch him accept the phone from the doctor. He dials a number and slips into the worst Southern drawl I've ever heard.

"I'm lookin' t' talk t' a Doctor Richter. He's treatin' an ol' war buddy o' mine. Guy came in with some damage t' his ribs 'n' hand? Yeah, I'll wait." Hannibal rakes me with his disapproving gaze again.

He listens more intently to the phone and drops the accent when he speaks again. "What's the news, Richter?"

Releasing his breath slowly, he glances up at B. A. who is at the foot of the couch where I lay. Hannibal doesn't look at me, compounding my anxiety and guilt.

"Okay . . . yeah . . . I'll call back at 7 this evening. If he wakes up . . . okay . . . it's probably better he doesn't wake up right now . . . I understand . . . " He listens some more and then hangs up.

"They've given him haloperidol to keep him under for now. It's the only way they can control him."

I wince, knowing how much my buddy hates the effects that stuff has on him.

"They're hoping they can prevent his lung from collapsing. The rest of his injuries have already been taken care of." Hannibal's icy facade finally breaks. Even then, his anger comes out in a low menacing growl. "What the hell were you thinking when you brought him there? And don't give me that crap about her knowing exactly how to take care of him. It was a trap and you were too blind to see it."

Time's come to clean the slate. "I met her one of the times I went to spring Murdock. We seemed to hit it off. I've been seeing her for about two months." I wait for the Colonel to say something but he doesn't. "I wanted to see her. I thought we could both watch Murdock and have a little time together at the same time."

B. A. snorts and turns away again. "Thought so."

Hannibal hands me a photo, his expression flinty. "This look familiar, Lieutenant? Take a good look."

Taking it from him, I shrink a little, knowing I lied to the woman in the photo. I hope she didn't take it too hard when I stopped seeing her. I had to be careful and she was getting too possessive.

The Colonel leans in closer and points at her image. "That woman tried to commit suicide by jumping over a bridge. She's paralyzed from the neck down and will spend the rest of her life in a mental health unit. She doesn't talk and doesn't remember anyone, not even her sister."

"I didn't . . . how could I know? It's still no reason for Meg Wainwright to come after me . . . is it?" Hannibal shakes his head and gets to his feet. His anger has dissipated . . . for now. He walks away, going to refill his coffee cup.

I feel like I have to defend myself. I yell after him, "Hey, I thought she really was into me." Seconds later, I realize what a stupid lame comment that was.

B. A. glares at me from his position by the window. "Tell that to Murdock, man."

oooooo

My nightmare continues to plague me over the next week. It never varies. It always ends with me back in Vietnam captured and about to be killed by the VC. Because of the unsettling dreams, Hannibal and B. A. alternate staying at Stinozza's apartment with me.

At the end of the week, the Colonel decides that I'm healed enough to leave the apartment and come to stay with him for a while.

I can tell Stinozza is glad to get his apartment back. My nightly outbursts have been wearing on him. I have a feeling he knows what it's like to wake from a war-related nightmare.

I'm not sure how I feel about staying with the Colonel. He changes the dressing over the wound daily. He makes sure I exercise the leg to get it back into condition. We eat together in the living room where I rest and recuperate. We watch football games together. But I know when I'm healed completely, he has some special disciplinary action in mind for me.

He doesn't talk about my mistake. He doesn't have to. He's let me read Meg's diary. I think about what I've read every waking moment.

I think about the dead cat he laid at my feet. That food might have killed Murdock and, if he hadn't caught on to Meg's game, we both would have been dead like that cat. I'm not sure where B. A. and Hannibal disposed of the cat's body. All I know is Hannibal wanted to make a point and the dead cat certainly did that.

He calls Richter each afternoon to get a status report on Murdock. He looks worried after each call but tells me very little about what the doc says.

Finally, one day he tells me Richter wants Murdock and me to meet at his beach house. I wonder if my buddy requested the meeting or the doc prescribed it for some reason.

Either way, I don't know if I'm looking forward to seeing Murdock again or dreading it. Maybe both.


	25. Chapter 25 Small Steps

The One With the Gun

AN: Donna Sullivan is an original character who made her appearance in 'The Sucker Punch Never Came,' the first fan fiction I ever wrote.

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

Warchild, your heart is broken

Your mind is breakin', it's such a shame

Warchild, your body's broken

Your woman's taken, it's not a game.

People once shared your wisdom

Shared your memory, shared your dreams

Now your thoughts have all been scattered

What once was rhythm are now just screams

From _Warchild_ by Def Leppard

Chapter 25 Small Steps

Two weeks later

There's a knock on my door but I don' want nobody comin' in. If nobody gets inta my room, they won' get hurt 'n' I won' hafta be dosed with haloperidol. Meg tried t' slash my heart out in my latest nightmare 'n' that's got me way too edgy t' be 'round anyone.

B'sides, I gotta keep my 'ttention on the window b'cause that's where the witch is likely t' try t' get in. She's gonna have a fight on her hands if she tries t' follow through. I don' give my heart t' jus' anyone. Not like Faceman.

I sit on the floor, my back 'gainst the dresser 'n' facin' the window. I sleep that way, too. At least, I do 'til I have 'nother ward-wakin' screamin' nightmare 'n' they put me in restraints on my bed. That's the reason after the first few days, I let only certain people in. I can't be restrained 'n' hope t' protect myself from her.

Doc Richter's the only one I'll let in. Him 'n' that pretty nurse Donna Sullivan. I hafta have my meals d'livered to me somehow 'n' I don' trust the witch ain' found a way t' disguise herself as one o' the orderlies. Richter didn' think it was smart t' have a woman take care o' me. Miss Donna's got somethin' special 'bout her so I tol' him that was the way I wanted it..

Guess I _don'_ really know how much I can trust the nurse either but she seems like she's the real deal. She always calls me 'Captain Murdock,' not Mister, 'n' she knocks 'n' waits for an answer. She respects my privacy. If I tell her t' go 'way, she leaves me 'lone but not b'fore sayin' "If you need anything, just call."

She chews her bottom lip in the cutest way when she brings in my meal on a tray. I think she's got somethin' she wants t' say t' me but's too scared t' come out with it.

I wanna get t' know her better. The only roadblock's the big part o' me that says "Don' trust." Look what a mess trust got Face 'n' me into.

"Captain Murdock? Doctor Richter wants to have your session in his office today." It's Nurse Donna.

Maybe if I preten' I'm 'sleep 'n' don' hear her?

"I don't want to lose my job because you won't do what Doctor Richter thinks is best for you." She pauses.

I sense she's peering in through the reinforced glass window but my eyes're closed t' keep her out.

"Please, Captain? I don't like seeing you so afraid and shut off from everyone. Neither does the doctor."

She doesn' know 'bout the isolation pit in the POW camp 'n' how many times I was tossed in there t' keep company with the rats, spiders 'n' snakes. I can handle bein' 'lone jus' fine.

Yeah, right. Who 'm I kiddin'?

"Doctor Richter sent me to escort you to his office." She seems t' brace herself b'cause the nex' thing she says is "Look. I'm coming in under _his orders._ If you have a problem with that, then talk to Doctor Richter."

I open my eyes as she unlocks the door. Sitting up, my back ramrod straight 'gainst the dresser, my knees drawn up, I refuse t' look at her.

I suddenly realize a part o' me's amused at her bravery 'n' at the same time thankful she d'cided t' come in this time when it was clear I didn' want anyone in here.

"Whaddya want?" I hear my own voice 'n' don' recognize it. I haven' been talkin' very much t' anybody so it's kinda hoarse from not usin' it.

"I told you."

I hear her come nearer 'n' then she's kneelin' b'side me. She doesn' reach out t' touch me. She knows better, knows that if I ain' in the proper state o' mind, she's gonna get hurt.

I grimace at the bruise on her forearm that looks like four fingers 'n' a thumb. I did that a couple o' days ago. I ain' proud of it.

She sees me lookin' at it 'n' covers it with her other hand. "Don't feel bad about this. It doesn't hurt. You didn't know what you were doing."

"You didn' tell 'em how it happened." I know she didn' b'cause I wasn' put in restraints after she left the room.

She lowers her gaze 'n' chews her bottom lip. "I don't like seeing patients restrained." She looks into my eyes 'n' I understan' she ain' talkin' 'bout every patient, jus' me.

"Well . . . " I don' know what to say. I clear my throat, tryin' t' forget how pretty her eyes are when she's lookin' at me all concerned like she is.

"I understand you're afraid about leaving your room. That woman hurt you badly." She hesitates 'n' reaches out t' touch my arm.

I flinch for jus' a second but I force myself not t' remove my arm completely from her hand. The human touch feels nice. I didn' know how much I missed it.

"Please, Captain. Let me bring you to see Doctor Richter. It'll show him you're in control of your fears, that your fears don't control you." She continues t' scan my face. "Please?"

"You don' know how . . . " I can' put inta words the panic I feel startin' inside me at the thought o' walkin' that hallway t' his office. _She_ could be hidin' anywhere waitin' for me t' pass by. I end up bowing my head over my knees, my face in my hands.

"If you start feeling overwhelmed, I'll get you back here right away." She touches my shoulder gently. "I promise. I'll tell him it was a little too much for you right now. He'll understand. But at least try."

When I don't respond she repeats, "Please?"

"Ya wanna make that a pinky promise? That if I can't handle it, you'll take me back here pronto?" She's gonna think it's silly. We're both adults 'n' that sorta stuff's for kids.

My mouth jus' 'bout drops open when she says, "Sure. I pinky promise to bring you back to your room if you tell me you can't make it all the way to Doctor Richter's office."

"What 'bout when I gotta get back t' my room?"

"I'll be there to walk you back again. But you have to try to get there and back with me." She holds out her pinky finger and waits, her expression solemn.

I can't b'lieve I've met someone who understands how bindin' a pinky promise is. I entwine my pinky finger with hers 'n' seal the deal.

"Done," I whisper. The next hard part's tryin' t' get t' my feet after sittin' here for so long. Nurse Donna helps me with that, too.

I get a close-up of her face when I'm finally standin' 'n' I kinda understan' why my buddy's so taken by real beauty when he sees it. 'Cause I see it right now 'n' it radiates from inside 'er, unlike so many o' Face's beauties.

"Should I see who's out there in the hall before we start?" She doesn't think twice 'bout askin' if I need that kinda support.

It's childish t' be this way but I can't help it. I nod 'n' watch her go to the door. It doesn' take her long t' report.

"Everyone's either in their rooms or having lunch. Which I will have waiting for _you_ when you come back to the room." She gnaws her lower lip 'gain 'n' looks up into my eyes. "Are you ready?"

"I . . . guess." I take in a really deep breath, somethin' the doctors want me t' do a few times a day anyway, 'n' follow her out o' my door.

Four steps from the door I hear Meg's hissin' voice. "She can't protect you. You're mine." It seems t' come from everywhere at once.

I have t' stop, my back t' the wall. I clench my right hand into a fist. The left's pretty much useless while it's still got stitches in it.

Peerin' 'round the hallway, makin' a full sweep o' my surroundin's, I'm 'ware Nurse Donna is b'side me right 'way. She touches my shoulder, massages it, tryin' t' rid me o' my panic.

"I heard her," I choke past the fear in my throat.

"I know you think you did." Her voice is soothing, her touch calming.

"No, I _did_! I _heard_ her!" I press my right fist against my forehead 'n' close my eyes. I don' wanna lose it in front o' Nurse Donna.

"Maybe it _is_ too soon for you to take this step." She gently pulls my fist from my face and holds it in her own two hands. "We can go back to your room if you want." Her tone is resigned 'n' sad.

I swallow several times, fightin' 'gainst the feelin' of wantin' t' give up. "I don' wanna quit. I know I can't live in that room forever."

I gaze inta her eyes, hopin' she can fin' the words t' keep me walkin' t' Doc's office.

For a few seconds she says nothin', jus' looks inta my eyes. Then, "Do you think you can block her voice out if I keep talking to you?"

"Maybe." I don' know if it'll work. "But we gotta try, don' we?"

So she talks as we walk 'n' I try my best t' focus on her words. She talks 'bout the dogs she's owned in the past, her childhood in upper Michigan, snowy winters 'n' sleddin', the garden she wishes she could have if only she didn' hafta live in an apartment . . .

B'fore I know it, we're at Doc Richter's office door. I wish I didn' hafta go in. I wanna keep listenin' t' her.

"I'll be here when you're done," she reassures me, seein' the look on my face. "And I'll walk you to your room. Maybe you can tell me about flying, how it feels to be up there, on the way back."

She smiles 'n' I return the smile, whisperin', "Thank ya, Nurse Donna." The smile doesn' leave my face as I go inta the office 'n' flop down on the patients' couch for my session.


	26. Chapter 26 The Goal

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

I'm not gonna hide

I'm not gonna run away

I'll uncover the scars

And show you every mistake.

Your love is mending my blisters

And the bruising shame.

Here with you

I am safe.

From _Safe_ by Natalie Grant

Chapter 26 The Goal

One week later

I hear a knock on my door. Layin' on my back, I smile.

I glance at my window, the arcade game blockin' any possible entrance from that way. She wasn' s'posed t' do it but Nurse Donna helped me move it so I could feel a li'l safer sleepin' in my own bed. The witch ain' gonna come in that way 'less she makes a lotta noise doin' it 'n' by then I'll be ready for her.

Nurse Donna's way o' knockin's familiar t' me now. She's been comin' by every day t' bring me my meals 'n' escort me t' my sessions with Doc Richter. He's seein' me every day now 'n' he still ain' found out 'bout the bomb that a'most killed me. I ain' even tol' him everythin' 'bout what happened in Meg's 'partment.

Dwellin' on those two things brings on the panic attacks. So I don't think 'bout them . . . much.

I'd much rather talk t' Nurse Donna 'bout clouds 'n' blue skies 'n' flyin' 'n' the groun' b'low lookin' like one o' Gramma's patchwork quilts.

I know what Doc's tryin' t' do. He wants the sessions in his office so I _hafta_ leave my room. So I stop bein' 'fraid the witch's gonna attack me 'long the way. If it's workin' it's only 'cause I got such a fascinatin' escort t' get me there.

"Come in." I swing my legs over the edge o' my bed 'n' sit up.

Nurse Donna smiles at me as soon as she's in the door. "Are you ready to go see Doctor Richter?"

"Sure am." I get t' my feet 'n' stroll t' the door, my hands in my pants pockets. She goes first, checkin' the hallway like she's been doin' all this week. She's wearin' a li'l fragrance t'day . . . vanilla, if I'm not mistaken . . . 'n' it smells nice on her.

Did she wear it jus' for li'l ol' me? I dismiss the thought. Only my buddy Face could be so lucky.

She seems a li'l more nervous 'bout somethin' t'day, like she wants t' ask me somethin' but can't bring herself t' do it.

I don' know how t' draw it outta her so we walk a few yards in silence.

Finally, I sigh 'n' stop her by standin' still right in front o' her, blockin' her way. I cross my arms 'n' look in her eyes.

"What's wrong? Ya ain' said a word since we left my room."

She chews on her lip for a moment, comes t' a decision 'n' blurts out, "I'd love to have you take me outside to that little grove of trees where the bench is. I could use the fresh air."

She can go outside any time she wants. I know she ain' tellin' me the whole truth. I raise one eyebrow. "That ain' the real reason."

She hesitates, then says, "Okay. You're right. It isn't _healthy_ for you to stay inside the hospital all the time. Don't you miss looking up at the sky?"

She's right. I _do_ miss it. But there are so many places for Meg t' hide 'n' wait for me out there . . . I swallow, avoidin' Nurse Donna's pleadin' eyes.

I gotta answer her. The word doesn' wanna come out. "Yes." My throat tightens. I _miss_ bein' outside. I _miss_ the sky. I miss _flyin'_. I _miss_ that kind o' freedom.

She waits for me t' say more but I push past her. I don' wanna be rude. I jus' don' wanna talk 'bout it. It hurts too much. "I gotta make my session with Doc Richter. I'm gonna be late."

Comin' up 'longside me, she argues with me. "If you miss seeing the sky, then why don't we take it a step at a time? We can go as far as the door to the hospital. I'll find two chairs and we can sit out there. You'll get a little fresh air and see what you've been missing."

"I . . . I'll think 'bout it." It sounds pretty temptin'.

I stuff my hands deeper in my pockets, curlin' my fingers 'round the small pocketknife I've had hidden in my dresser drawer for years. She 'n' Doc don' know I've been carryin' it with me every day I've had t' go t' my session with him. If I _do_ go outside with Nurse Donna, at least I'll have somethin' t' d'fend her 'n' me.

She seems t' be happy with that answer as we get t' the office door. "Have a good session, Captain. I'll be back to walk you to your room."

I smile at her 'til she walks 'way, then go in, a frown replacin' it. It's the next natural step t' my healin' but I don' know if I'm ready . . . 'r if I'll ever be ready.

oooooo

When Murdock comes into my office, I can see he's got something serious on his mind. Nurse Sullivan must have followed my orders and attempted to invite him to go outside.

It would be a big step for him and I recognize it. But he has to succeed at _that_ step before I can consider taking him to the beach house I own to meet with his friend and maybe help rid _both_ of them of their recent nightmares.

Maybe meeting with his friend is a good incentive to keep him progressing toward that goal?

It depends on whether he harbors resentment toward Peck for getting him into that situation to begin with. I have to find out.

Knowing my office might be bugged, I press a finger to my lips to warn him and press the play button on a tape recorder. It's a tape I recorded of a session we had a few months ago but no one listening should be able to tell the difference.

He stares at me with open-mouthed confusion for a few seconds. Then he takes in a breath to speak.

I shake my head vigorously and again make the sign to be quiet. Coming over to where he sits on the couch, I bring a chair near enough to him so we can talk quietly and not be heard.

"Smith says your friend has been having very bad nightmares since your ordeal at Miss Wainwright's apartment." I pause to see what effect the information has on him.

He drops his gaze to the floor, a haunted sadness in his eyes. Leaning forward to place his elbows on his knees, he clasps his hands in front of him and bows his head. "Ain' we all?" he mutters.

"Your Colonel says they're getting worse, not better." _For God's sake, look at me! Don't try to hide away inside yourself and avoid the problem. I know you care about your friend._

"He's got B. A. 'n' Hann'bal t' protect 'im. Angry mudsucker ain' gonna let no witch screw with Face no more." He shudders, then glances at me as if hoping I didn't see it.

There's that word again. He calls Meg Wainwright a witch. It's obvious she's the object of his paranoia. It's fear of her that prevents him from moving around freely on the ward. He doesn't think he's safe anywhere but in his room. We can't force him to believe the ward is secure.

I try a related angle. " _Your_ nightmares haven't gone away either."

His lips twist into a bitter smile. "You got good intel, Doc. Is Nurse Donna your spy?"

That was exactly what I _didn't_ want to happen. I don't want him to be suspicious of Nurse Sullivan's intentions. We won't get any farther with his therapy if he is. He'll shut her out if he believes that. He might shut me out, too.

So I lie. "I don't _have_ to have a spy. I see how tired you are from the dark circles under your eyes. You haven't slept well since that day. And you still yell and make noise at night when you wake from one of them even if you don't accept help from any night nurse except Nurse Sullivan. All of those episodes are recorded in your file."

I pause to take a breath and let him speak but he remains silent. "She can't be here 24 hours a day, Murdock. We have to get at the reason for the nightmares so you can help yourself be free of them."

He shrugs and goes back to staring down at the floor at his feet.

"Do you blame your friend for what happened to both of you?"

He snorts and shakes his head. "He wasn' careful 'n' he's got a bad habit o' see-skirt-will-flirt but if it's his own personal addiction . . . woman-chasin', that is . . . how can I be mad at 'im? He can't help himself. It's who he is."

"Then you aren't against talking to him, maybe seeing if you can help him be free of his nightmares?" I see him consider the question. If I know my patient, I know he's a very forgiving man. He doesn't bear grudges.

"It'd be dangerous for him t' come here. Decker's still on the prowl, ain' he? I know he ain' been t' see me 'n' ask questions but it don' mean he ain' 'round." He says that with such monotone resignation that I know now that talking to his friend is _exactly_ what he needs.

So how do we move him from Point A to Point B in his therapy?

"I own a small place overlooking the ocean . . . "

"Good for you," he interrupts, clutching his hands together in front of him even more. His short shallow breaths signal that our session is making him nervous.

"Decker knows nothing about my beach house and he can't enter it without good cause. It would be a good place for you and Peck to meet and talk for a while." I sit back to see the reaction my words achieve.

He raises his gaze and the look he gives is so dark and skeptical I start to doubt my plan. But we have to keep trying . . . _he_ has to keep trying. I wonder if Smith will have the same amount of trouble with his Lieutenant.

"We'll take it a step at a time."

He sighs and returns to his brooding silence.

Our session has ended but at least he has an idea of what our long term goal is for him. He can work toward that. Nurse Sullivan and I will make sure he does.


	27. Chapter 27 Enough Is Enough

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

Reflecting now on my own past,

Inside this prison I've made of myself.

I'm feeling a little better today,

Although the bathroom mirror is telling me something else.

These lines of stress, one bloodshot eye,

The unhealthy pallor of a troubled ghost . . .

From _50,000_ by Sting

Chapter 27 Enough Is Enough

That same day

When I get back to the apartment after a full day of shooting the latest _Aquamaniac_ movie, I'm greeted by the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Hobbling out of the kitchen, the cane bearing much of his weight, Face attempts to keep the liquid from sloshing out of his cup.

He hasn't shaven yet today and, from the look of him, he hasn't bothered to comb his hair either. It doesn't disturb me except this is Face and it isn't like him.

He looks terrible. The dark circles under his eyes show the nightly struggle with what waits for him in his dreams. He was awake and watching the street from the living room window when I left for the set at 5 A. M. Come to think of it, he had a cup of coffee in his hand then, too.

"Did you get any more sleep after I left this morning?"

He shrugs and sets the cup down on the end table before easing himself down on the couch. Placing his cane in a position where he can easily grab it, he lifts his healing leg onto a cushion on a stool in front of him. The grimace tells me he's been on that leg too much today while I was gone.

"The apartment was too quiet. I couldn't."

Okay. So that was obviously a lie. The walls are thin and one of my neighbors has a newborn son and a hyperactive preschooler.

I nod at his cup. "So how many pots did you brew for yourself today?"

"One or two." He picks up the cup and sips, gazing across at the window facing the street rather than at me.

I'm beginning to realize he's dosing himself with caffeine to stay awake, to avoid the nightmares. It's going to kill him if I can't get him to relax. The trouble is I don't know how to do that.

"Pizza good for supper tonight?" I ask. I know he won't go to a diner or fast food joint. Even if he had reservations, he wouldn't go to one of the high class restaurants he loves to frequent either. He won't leave the apartment.

"Whatever you want. Doesn't matter to me." He adjusts his leg on the cushion and swallows more coffee.

"Okay. Pizza it is. What do you want on it?" I figure he'll at least have some preferences on toppings.

He gives me a faint smile that disappears too soon. "Surprise me."

I take the phone to the kitchen where I make a call to the local pizzeria and order the largest pizza they have with everything on it and extra cheese. I tell them I'll stop by to pick it up.

And when I do, I'll be making a call to Richter to set up a day to have our two patients meet at his beach house. Enough is enough.

oooooo

Two days later

Since Nurse Donna's been bringin' me my meals 'n' escortin' me t' Doc's office, I've wanted t' make sure I look decent for her. I've never been a slob but I ain' felt like bein' this particular 'bout how I look for a very long time. She makes the day worth lookin' forward to. I'd like for her t' look forward t' it like me.

When she knocks on the door, I answer her with my usual "Come in" 'n' check the mirror over the sink t' make sure I don' have a dab o' shavin' cream I missed somewhere on my face. All's good.

Smoothin' my hair back with both hands, I smile at her reflection in the mirror as she enters the room.

"Doctor Richter has another appointment today that he forgot he scheduled. He said it was okay for me to take you outside for a while." She tries t' smile. She knows I ain' gonna go willingly.

I don' wanna frown at her but I know I am b'cause she gets a worried look on her face. "I know you said you weren't ready yet." She pauses, then the rest comes out in a rush that leaves a blush on her cheeks. "But how are you going to know for sure you aren't if you don't ever try?"

I can't answer that one so I stare down at the floor 'n' nudge 'maginary dust bunnies with the toe o' my shoe. Shovin' my hands deep in my pants pockets, I nervously clear my throat.

She takes a deep breath 'n' puts her hands on her hips. "Look at me, mister," she d'mands. I peek at her for a moment.

Man, is she cute when she's mad.

"I'm not going to take no for an answer, Captain H. M. Murdock! You . . . "

She marches over t' my dresser 'n' takes my cap.

" . . . are . . . " Plantin' herself in front o' me, she adjusts it on my head. Her eyes flash with determination as she gives me a furious look.

". . . going to try . . . " I watch t' see what she's gonna do nex'. My mouth's dropped open 'cause she ain' ever shown this much anger t' me. I could get her fired for how she's talkin' t' me, claim abuse, but in a way, I like her bold side.

" . . . if I have to carry you . . . " She spies my jacket draped over the end o' my bed 'n' fetches it.

" . . . 'n' put you in a chair outside . . . " Holdin' it out for me, she stamps her foot when I hesitate.

" . . . myself!" I obediently slip my arms in the sleeves 'n' turn suddenly t'ward her. She's inches from me 'n' I catch my breath, wonderin' what's gonna happen next.

My move startles her. It also takes the wind outta her sails for a few seconds. She realizes we're very close . . . within kissin' distance, my mind registers . . . 'n' recovers fast b'fore either o' us can act on it . . . well, at least b'fore I can . . . don' know 'bout her.

"Now will you come with me willingly or do I have to get a wheelchair, use restraints and wheel you out there?" She tips her chin up 'n' crosses her arms.

I can't help smirkin' at her no-nonsense pose. "Is that an order?"

"It's _Doctor Richter's_ orders and _I'm_ the one he trusts will make sure they get done."

"Look." I take a step back 'n' take a breath. Bein' close t' her makes me a bit fuzzy minded. "This's a huge step. There ain' nothin' t' protect me out there."

"Except me. I won't let anyone or anything hurt you. And, if you want, we can bring along Ben. You _know_ he can stop anything from happening to you."

Ben's one o' our orderlies. He's the type o' guy who ya know's gotta have a lifetime gym membership. The guy's got huge muscles with kids o' their own.

I look down at my hands 'n' pick at the skin 'round my thumbnail, avoidin' givin' her an answer.

"But if you won't try, even for me, I'll have to ask Doctor Richter to assign someone else to bring you your meals. I don't want to do that. You're one of my favorite patients. But if you don't trust me to do what's best for you, I can't help you anymore . . . " She sounds really sad.

For several seconds, I fight the demons in my head that'd say, "Fine. I don' wanna go anywhere. Don' let the door hit ya on your way out, sweetie." The voices shout so much I gotta squeeze my eyes shut t' shut them up.

Over their yellin' I hear the door open. One by one, the voices stop 'n' a cacklin' laugh echoes in my brain. I know that laugh. It makes my insides go cold with dread.

I look t' see what's goin' on. I don' r'member puttin' my fists up t' either side o' my head, pressin' in so hard, my skull hurts.

Nurse Donna gazes at me from the doorway 'n' the expression on her face's so sad I wanna scoop her int' my arms 'n' promise her everythin' she wants.

She says two words b'fore leavin'. "I'm sorry." Then she's gone.

I stumble t' my bed, sit down 'n' bury my face in my hands.

oooooo

When I call Richter to make sure of the place and time Face and Murdock will get their chance to talk, he sounds frustrated.

"I screwed up, Smith." I hear him sigh over the phone and wait for an explanation. My stomach churns at the words and the tone he used.

"I thought he trusted Nurse Sullivan more than he did. I authorized her to bring him outside for a few minutes to help him overcome his fear and he refused to go. She told me he almost had another episode."

"So we have to postpone the meeting for a few days."

The doc is too quiet on the other end of the line. Then, "Nurse Sullivan won't be helping us anymore. She's helped him to overcome some of his paranoia but she's obviously unable to move him farther than that." After another long pause, he adds, "If he won't go outside, I can't force him."

I glance around the pizzeria to make sure no one is taking an extraordinary interest in who I am and what I'm saying.

"Then we need to consider another method, Doc." My mind has already been working on the problem. The solution is an easy one.

I smile. "Here's what I think we should do."


	28. Chapter 28 Where We're Safe

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

A little help is all it ever takes

Somebody else to tell you it's worth fighting

A single step becomes a leap of faith

That's when you realize you started flying.

So, don't you ever say you're giving up

No, there's no looking back . . . 'cause we were all meant to fly.

From _Fly_ by Avril Lavigne

Chapter 28 Where We're Safe

Three days later

I stare at the open file in front of me without really seeing it. I should be preparing for my afternoon sessions but my conversation with Smith three days ago occupies my thoughts.

He filled me in on very few details of his plan to get Murdock and Peck together to talk. He said to keep the Captain calm. When things start to happen, he doesn't want Murdock in restraints, under the influence of haloperidol or any other sedatives or in a lock-down status. I've waited but nothing's happened yet.

Murdock missed his last two appointments with me.

Yesterday Ben reported that the Captain refuses any food that isn't in sealed wrappers. Twinkies, candy bars, soda in unopened bottles and milk in unopened cartons seem to be the only thing Murdock will eat and drink because he suspects everything else to be poisoned.

I'll have to go back to having his sessions in his room if this continues. And he will have to be restrained and fed intravenously. Something I don't want to do. It would damage any remaining trust he has in me.

I lean back in my chair and stare out the window. How do I get through to him and reassure him he is safe?

A knock at my office door rouses me from my musing.

"Yes?"

The door opens slowly and reveals Nurse Sullivan.

I wave a hand to invite her to enter. She glances down the hallway but stays where she is.

"There's someone here to see Captain Murdock, Doctor." She chews on her lower lip and looks again down the hallway toward the patients' rooms. Her expression is one of confusion.

I wasn't expecting Smith to _bring_ Peck here to meet with Murdock. That would be very unwise and very unsafe. I'm sure Murdock's CO is not _that_ foolhardy. But because I know he genuinely cares about the welfare of his men, he might believe it's the only way. I haven't told him about Murdock's junk food diet and desire for isolation.

"You may show him to the Captain's room, Nurse." I rise from my chair. "I'll sit in on their meeting just in case Captain Murdock needs someone to mediate."

Nurse Sullivan appears even more confused. She stammers, "Captain Murdock's guest is an elderly woman. She _claims_ she's his Aunt Agnes. She wants to have a three day pass for him to visit her and his Uncle Thomas." She hesitates for a second. "But he hasn't mentioned _anything_ about any living relatives and certainly _not_ an Aunt Agnes or Uncle Thomas."

It takes only a few seconds for me to realize who Murdock's visitor must be. _This_ I have to see for myself.

I follow Nurse Sullivan to the ward nurses' station. As we approach, I note an overweight stoop-shouldered woman in a blue floral dress and navy blue pillbox hat hovering near the desk, her back to us.

She turns and I have to stifle my amused surprise.

"Are you the doctor that's been tendin' t' my nephew H. M.?"

The voice is a raspy falsetto, but Smith hasn't fooled me.

"Yes, ma'am. Your nephew has told me so little about you but it's nice to meet you _face to face_." I emphasize the last three words, knowing Smith will catch on to the hidden meaning. "If you will follow me, I'm sure we can secure that pass for you. I just have to make sure he wishes to go with you."

I nod a reassurance to the nurse and smile at Smith.

Nurse Sullivan frowns as she returns to her post at the desk. She scrutinizes the visitor as if trying to make up her mind whether Aunt Agnes is real or not. She seems very protective of Murdock.

I say nothing on our way to Murdock's room. As I knock on the door, I hear an angry "Yes? Whaddya want?" from the other side.

"Testy, ain' he?" Smith mutters.

I shake my head at Murdock's tone before answering him. "Since you won't come to my office for our session, I've decided to come to you. May I come in?" I know I don't need permission to enter but I do it out of respect. If he were in real danger to himself, I wouldn't bother asking.

I motion for Smith to remain behind me as I enter. The first thing I note are the candy bar and Twinkie wrappers all around Murdock on the floor. He has returned to sitting with his back to the dresser, facing the window. I notice the arcade game has been pushed up against it. A blanket covers him and a pillow supports his head. He twists slightly to look at me.

He cringes as he sees the 'woman' visitor behind me. I'm not sure if he knows it's his CO or thinks it's someone more terrifying.

Smith exchanges a concerned look with me. I wonder if he's seen Murdock behave like this before. Or maybe he sees the hollowed unshaven appearance and bloodshot eyes as evidence his pilot is still in the grips of severe paranoia.

"I've come to spring you, Captain." That's all Smith says and Murdock's reaction is horrible to watch.

"I . . . I can't . . . I can't . . . Hann'bal . . . " he mumbles, drawing the blanket tighter around himself. If he wasn't pressed up against the dresser, I know he would be rocking back and forth.

Smith brushes past me and kneels beside his pilot. "We need you to fly us somewhere. You're the only one I trust."

"Can't . . . I can't . . . " He sounds as if he's choking on the words. Curling his upper body over his bent knees, he wraps his arms around them and buries his face in the blanket.

"You're the only one who can do this mission, Captain." Smith places his hand on Murdock's shoulder and squeezes it slightly.

"Get someone . . . anyone . . . else . . . I can't . . . "

"You're the _only_ one. Come with me. That's an order, Captain." Hannibal says it with the type of authority that expects immediate action and gets to his feet.

Murdock doesn't respond. If anything, he coils his body tighter as if to defend himself against the words. "Look at me." Smith's voice turns gentler. He waits for his pilot to obey, then adds, "She can't hurt you up there, Captain. No one can. You know that's true, don't you? Don't you miss being up there?"

For many moments, my patient scrutinizes his CO's face. Just as I'm about to suggest Smith gives up and tries again later, Murdock swallows and staggers to his feet. I can't imagine the internal struggle it took for him to master that.

He's unsteady and Smith reaches out to lend him support and keep him standing. "As soon as you can get us a wheelchair and those papers for me to sign, we'll be on our way, Doc," the disguised man murmurs to me.

Carefully he guides Murdock over to his bed and sits beside him, saying things to him in a low voice.

When I return with the wheelchair, my patient is less shaky but still unhappy to leave the VA with his Colonel.

"You'll be fine, son," Smith says as he moves toward the elevator with his pilot. He pats Murdock on his shoulder and the door closes behind them.

I hope Smith knows what he's doing. I played my part.

oooooo

B. A. is waiting for us at the rendezvous point. The black van is parked several yards away from a helicopter.

Chuck Snow, a Hollywood stunt helicopter pilot I know, stands beside the chopper. He looks a little impatient.

"I have to have this back to the airfield ASAP, John," he yells as he walks toward Face's Corvette. He does a double take when he sees what I'm wearing.

Peering at me as I get out of the car, he frowns. "What the hell? What exactly are you dressed up to be?"

I smirk. "Someone's aunty."

He pauses for a second, then shrugs and continues to scold me. Only when I walk to the passenger's side of the car and try to persuade Murdock to leave the vehicle does he stop.

"You said nothing about any more passengers. Who's this?" Chuck eyes Murdock suspiciously, taking in the leather bomber jacket. "And who's going to pilot this bird?"

I smile, knowing Chuck, a fellow Vietnam vet, will recognize the name if not the man himself. " _This_ is my pilot, Captain H. M. Murdock."

The look on Chuck's face is one I'll remember for a long time. "Wait! You're not saying . . . Not _that_ Captain Murdock . . . " His mouth drops open and I see him notice for the first time the snarling tiger on the back of Murdock's jacket and the words 'DaNang 1970'.

I urge Murdock to shake Chuck's hand and then I guide him toward the waiting chopper. He seems to walk as if in a dream state and I wonder if I'm doing the right thing.

"Your other man is strapped in the co-pilot's seat and ready to go." Chuck gestures at B. A. " _He_ says he wouldn't be caught dead going up in this chopper with Captain Murdock at the controls. He have a bad flight or something?"

I smirk at B. A. "Or something," I answer as he scowls.

Murdock begins to climb into the cockpit, habit dictating his movements. He looks across to the co-pilot's seat and falters. For a moment he wavers with indecision.

"Don't worry. He'll wake up soon." Even as I say it and get into the rear passenger seat of the Allouette II, Face moans and begins to stir. "It's just a mild sedative. Now get us up in the air, Captain. Pronto before he wakes up all the way."


	29. Chapter 29 Pilot and Co-Pilot

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

Don't think sorry's easily said

Don't try turning tables instead

You've taken lots of chances before

But I ain't gonna give any more

Don't ask me

That's how it goes

'Cause part of me knows what you're thinking...

From _Eye in the Sky_ by The Alan Parsons Project

Chapter 29 Pilot and Co-Pilot

I a'most don' get in the chopper when I get a look at my passenger. I mean, where _was_ he when I was tryin' t' keep the witch from grabbin' my soul?

I mean, I kept 'er from _killin'_ him. _He_ didn' even bother t' try 'n' find out what happened t' me after they carried him outta there. Am I bein' so unreasonable? Best friends do stuff like that, don' they?

While the mem'ries o' that day come floodin' int' my mind, my buddy b'gins t' stir. His moan reminds me o' how close we _both_ came t' bein' killed. 'N' if the sense o' dread that's been hangin' 'round me since then is real, we could _still_ be that witch's target.

At the same time Face starts t' moan, the Colonel says, "Don't worry. He'll wake up soon." Hann'bal _meant_ t' reassure me but what he says don' make me feel any better. I don' know if I _wanna_ talk t' Face right now.

The only thing that gets me in that cockpit's the hope that the witch can't touch me when I'm up there. That, 'n' Hann'bal's order. It ain' smart t' disobey one o' Hann'bal's direct orders. Faceman's gonna learn _that_ the hard way if I know the Colonel 'n' his brand o' discipline at all.

So I settle into the pilot's seat 'n' start my preflight check list. Doin' that b'fore takin' off's as much a habit t' me as lightin' a fresh cigar t' think through a problem is t' the Colonel. I can do it without havin' t' give much thought to it.

"It's just a mild sedative."

I wince at Hann'bal's confession. Don' he r'member how much Face _hates_ bein' drugged? Sure hope Chuck what's-'is-name don' get mad when Faceman starts pukin' all over his pretty li'l chopper.

"Now get us up in the air, Captain. Pronto before he wakes up all the way." The Colonel's voice has an urgent edge to it.

My check is a'most complete. I unwrap a stick o' gum, fold it in half 'n' pop it in my mouth.

One las' thing. "Would ya make a place for Billy back there, Colonel? I don' want the ugly mudsucker t' hafta take care o' him while we're gone."

"Will do, Captain." Hann'bal whistles 'n' calls Billy's name. I'm pretty sure he's doin' it jus' t' humor me.

Well, let 'im think what he wants. I want Billy with me so if that witch figures out a way t' get at us . . . I don' wanna think 'bout crashin' . . . but if she _does_ try anythin', Billy'll be able t' warn me. Maybe I can keep us in the air.

Suddenly I feel like I ain' safe anywhere, not even up in the sky. The sky's a'ways been the safest place I know but she's taken even that 'way from me.

It takes all the willpower I got t' override the fear 'n' start the turbine engine. I gotta let this li'l lady ground idle b'fore I can engage the rotors. Should take only 'bout thirty 'r forty seconds.

I glance over at Face jus' as he moans again. Man, does he look like crap!

His hair's all messed up like he climbed outta bed 'n' forgot t' run a comb through it. I can tell he ain' lifted a razor t' his face for a couple o' days. His clothes . . . the Faceman I know wouldn' be caught dead out in public lookin' like he does right now. 'N' the slight odor . . . well, it ain' his usual cologne I'm smellin'.

I turn back t' watch the tachometer needle climb . . . 'n' jus' 'bout jump outta my skin when I hear a raspy "You look like crap" from the seat b'side me.

I try t' hide my reaction with a quick smart ass response. "Well, it ain' no pretty French perfume I'm smellin' from your direction either. 'N' have ya looked at yourself in a mirror lately?"

"Have you?" he snarls.

I shake my head impatiently, listenin' t' the whine of the turbine engine, waitin' for that moment when I can get us off the ground.

Once the rotors fully engage, I guide the chopper forward, turn her 'n' then lift up into the sky. I see the Big Guy with his fists clenched, scowlin' up at us from b'side his van. Chuck what's-'s-name looks anxious.

It don' take too long b'fore Faceman's ripped his headset off 'n' got his head hangin' out the open door, lettin' the contents o' his stomach spatter t' the ground b'low. I'm glad I'm takin' us out over a wooded area, 'way from anyone who mighta got hit with it.

I grimace. So far all Hann'bal's plan's done is t' get us t' trade insults. Not much chance o' talkin' with Face as sick as he is right now.

As soon as he can take a few breaths, Face shoots an angry "Okay. So what did you give me, Hannibal? You _know_ I have this reaction."

He half-twists in his seat t' glare at the Colonel. Bad move. The nex' second he's got his head hangin' out the door 'gain. Dry heaves this time.

"Would you have come with B. A. willingly if I _hadn't_ knocked you out?" Hann'bal shouts. He smirks a li'l as my buddy gives him a one finger salute without turnin' 'round 'n' dry heaves some more.

I a'most feel sorry for him so I try t' keep our flight as smooth as possible. I keep scannin' for anythin' the witch might do t' make us crash. Nothin' but trees b'low 'n' a few clouds in the sky . . . so far.

Only when Face eases himself back into his seat 'n' rests his head, eyes closed, do I realize I don' know where we're s'posed t' be goin'. 'N' maybe that's exactly what Hann'bal wants.

"Where to, Colonel?" I adjust the headset 'n' wait for an answer. It isn't what I thought it was gonna be.

"Your choice, Captain. Just keep us in the air until both of you come to your senses." The way he said that was more like a command than a suggestion 'n' I groan.

"I only got so much Jet-A. It ain' gonna fuel this baby forever. When it runs out, we crash," I spit at him. I'm frustrated, he knows it 'n' he don' care. Maybe the witch's cast a spell on 'im t' keep us up here too long.

His answer's so calm I grit my teeth. "Well, then I guess you'd both better start talking before that happens. I'll let you know when you can land."

" . . . or crash," I mutter, glancin' at my buddy. He puts his headset back on, knowin' that's what the Colonel 'xpects. At least he's fin'ly stopped pukin'.

Face looks at me, his feelin's unreadable, then turns 'way. "I _said_ I was sorry back at the apartment," he mumbles into his headset microphone.

"Sorry for what, Lieutenant?" Hann'bal interrupts.

I open my mouth t' protest 'gainst the Colonel's interference, then realize I wanna know the answer t' that one myself.

"I'm sorry Meg took it out on _you_ when she meant for _me_ to suffer for what I did in the past."

That wasn' what Hann'bal had in mind 'n' I hear him sigh like he was hopin' Face'd learned somethin' bigger from the whole 'xperience.

I ain' been Doc Richter's fav'rite patient for all these years not t' know my buddy's deflectin' all the blame on the witch. I'd let 'im do it too but _he_ took me t' that 'partment. _He_ dropped his defenses.

"Hey muchacho. Got a news flash for ya. Case ya forgot, _I_ didn't drive us t' her place. We wouldn' o' _been_ there if _you_ weren' . . ."

"That's enough, Captain!"

Wait a minute! Hann'bal ain' comin' t' his _defense_ , is he?

"I didn't know. I don't even _remember_ her sister." Face's voice is quiet, like he's tryin' t' r'member but can't. Then, he turns on me, jus' like that. "She was _your_ damn shrink, Murdock! How come you didn't see through her? You always say you know crazy when you see it. Why didn't you warn me that something wasn't right about her?"

I didn' 'xpect that kinda anger from him 'r that kinda blame comin' at me. The chopper tips t' the right as I flinch 'way from my best friend's accusin' voice.

"Captain?" I can't tell if Hann'bal's askin' for an answer t' those questions 'r wonderin' if I plan on flyin' sideways for the r'mainder o' the time we're talkin' things out.

I release the small bit o' pressure I applied t' the right foot pedal 'n' the chopper's upright 'gain. Good thing all o' us was strapped in.

Then 'gain, I don' think I d'served t' be blamed for not tellin' him 'bout my suspicions.

So, I snap back at him, "Wouldya of listened if I had?"

He glares at me 'n' I take my eyes 'way from the sky for only a second t' glare back. But he's thinkin' 'bout what I said. He's quiet for a minute 'r two. I gotta keep scannin' for trouble so I turn my 'ttention back t' the sky. Nothin' threatenin' there.

It's then I see the glint o' somethin' b'low us hidden 'mong the trees. Is it pointin' at us 'r is my mind playin' tricks on me?

I feel sweat b'gin t' prickle on my skin. Should I go down for a closer look? 'R should I take evasive action? Will anythin' I do stop the witch from takin' this bird down?

Does the Colonel see the same potential danger I see?

I don' wanna crash . . . I don' wanna crash . . .


	30. Chapter 30 Face's Side

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

Thorn in my side

You're always there

Just to remind me

That I still care

Thorn in my side

You won't let me go

Right there beside me

To let me know

I've been pushed around

Been knocked down

Lost a round or three

Life took a couple of things I loved

When I was too blind to see

From _Thorn in My Side_ by Bon Jovi

Chapter 30 Face's Side

My stomach is queasy from the moment I start to wake up from whatever caused me to lose consciousness in the first place.

I moan with the effort to open my eyes and drive the fuzziness from my head.

As if still in my dream, I hear the voices of Murdock and Hannibal. If Murdock's here, then where _am_ I? The last I knew, _he_ was at the VA hospital in a kind of self-imposed imprisonment in his room. I wanted to help him but my nightmares were making my days and nights like hell on earth. And for a reason I wasn't sure I knew, I had to keep watch to ensure I was safe.

"It's just a mild sedative."

The words are slow to register in my head. When they do, I redouble my attempt to regain full consciousness. I have a few things I'd like to say to Hannibal about his methods when I do.

Hannibal speaks again but I don't catch what he says. All I know is he sounds impatient.

Then Murdock says, "Would ya make a place for Billy back there, Colonel? I don' want the ugly mudsucker t' hafta take care o' him while we're gone."

While we're gone? Where exactly are we going?

Hannibal whistles and calls, "Here, Billy. Come here, boy."

There's a clicking sound like someone's flipped one or two switches. An engine starts to whine, becoming more intense with each passing second. I still don't know where I am but that sound is very familiar.

Another moan escapes me as I continue to force my mind to operate correctly. I manage to crack my eyelids open. At first all I see is forest ahead through a bubble type windshield.

We aren't in the van.

My brain slowly puts together the details of my surroundings . . . an enclosed space like a cockpit of some kind . . . an engine, probably a turbine engine, from the sounds of it . . . a dashboard with several gauges . . .

The realization hits me all at once. I'm in a chopper, and I think I know who the pilot is. Just to confirm it, I turn my gaze to my right and see him . . . my buddy . . . looking like he hasn't been eating, sleeping or otherwise taking care of himself for a few days.

I'm glad to see him . . . a little . . . but the first words out of my mouth are harsh. "You look like crap."

And he does. He's lost weight. It smells like he's been wearing the same clothes for a few days without bathing. He hasn't shaved either.

I guess he isn't in any mood to say much. He throws his own observations back at me. "Well, it ain' no pretty French perfume I'm smellin' from your direction either. 'N' have ya looked at yourself in a mirror lately?"

Am I _that_ bad? Maybe no one will get a chance to see me like this if Hannibal's plan is for us to go up in this chopper.

I have to answer him. A comment like that demands a response. "Have you?" I say. All he does is look disgusted and shake his head.

We're airborne in another few seconds. The motion of the helicopter and the sedative Hannibal gave me combine to make everything I ate this morning force its way up into my mouth.

Whipping off the headset someone placed over my ears while I was out of it, I lean out over the forest below and retch. For the next several minutes, all I can focus on is emptying my stomach.

Hannibal did this to me. That thought makes me furious. He didn't dope Murdock to get him out of the VA hospital but he doped me.

Better that he didn't sedate Murdock, though, or we would be crashing instead of flying.

As soon as I figure I have no more to vomit, I take a few deep breaths and snap at the Colonel. "Okay. So what did you give me, Hannibal? You _know_ I have this reaction."

I turn to glare at him and realize only then that my brain and stomach don't react well to any sudden movements. I hang my head out of the door again but with every dry heave wish I could give Hannibal a bit of the medicine he gave me.

It doesn't make me any happier with him when he responds to my protest. "Would you have come with B. A. willingly if I _hadn't_ knocked you out?"

All I can do right now is flash him my middle finger. Juvenile, I know, but I'm too busy bringing up stomach bile to worry about it.

At least they don't try to talk to me. They can't without shouting anyway when I don't have my headset on.

As soon as my stomach settles, I let my body relax into the seat. Closing my eyes helps. I let my head fall back on the head rest and I concentrate on breathing.

I faintly make out Murdock and Hannibal talking back and forth but I don't know what they're saying.

Only when I hear my buddy snarl at the Colonel do I sit up in my seat and take notice.

Murdock's not happy about something Hannibal said. I read his lips as he glances at me and says ". . . . or crash."

That gets my full attention. I put my headset back on to catch the argument they're having but they've stopped for now. The silence, as they say, is deafening. And filled with tension.

I sense they're waiting for me to say something and I think I know what they're expecting.

I can't look at Murdock and say what they want me to say. I examine the forest on my side of the chopper, making my expression as flat as I can.

"I _said_ I was sorry back at the apartment."

"Sorry for what, Lieutenant?" Hannibal's probing question demands I say more than I want to.

Evidentally he wants full disclosure. Okay, so I'll give it to him. Or at least as much as I'm willing to say.

"I'm sorry Meg took it out on _you_ when she meant for _me_ to suffer for what I did in the past."

I hear Hannibal's exasperated sigh over the headset. God, what does he want from me anyway?

Then Murdock speaks up. His tone is sharp and accusatory.

"Hey muchacho. Got a news flash for ya. Case ya forgot, _I_ didn't drive us t' her place. We wouldn' o' _been_ there if _you_ weren' . . ."

I know he's right but I don't want to admit it. Not to him, and especially not to Hannibal.

"That's enough, Captain!" The Colonel shuts him up with three harsh words.

I'm surprised at Hannibal's tone but the verbal reprimand gives me time to think. My brain is still a little murky from the sedative. I remember Meg spoke about her sister in her diary. The trouble is I can't remember that sister very well. Did we ever spend a night together?

If we did and it was that good that she thought I loved her, why can't I remember it? I've enjoyed the company of so many women they become a blur after a while. I mumble a defensive response until I can think of something better.

"I didn't know. I don't even _remember_ her sister."

It's then I come to the conclusion that Murdock could have stopped all of this by voicing his suspicions instead of bottling them up. Maybe I would have tried to find out the truth about Meg and not been deceived. Well, I'm not taking the full blame for what happened.

"She was _your_ damn shrink, Murdock! How come you didn't see through her? You always say you know crazy when you see it. Why didn't you warn me that something wasn't right about her?"

All of a sudden the chopper tips to the right. Murdock cringes away from me but in doing that presses his foot on the right foot pedal. I didn't know he was so jumpy.

Before I can react, Hannibal says over the headset, "Captain?"

With that single word, he manages to bring my buddy back.

Or maybe Murdock hasn't zoned off at all. I see his jaw muscles tighten for a second before he answers me.

"Wouldya of listened if I had?"

Yeah, that's the truth, isn't it? I wouldn't have listened. Murdock acting paranoid is nothing new. Sometimes he's right in his suspicions and sometimes it's his mental state of mind at the time. It's difficult to tell which it is.

We exchange angry looks before he returns his attention to flying the chopper. He does seem to be more fearful, watching the sky and ground for something. I'm not sure what. A nagging thought comes into my mind. Isn't this the sort of thing I've been doing the past few days at Hannibal's apartment? It's like we've both been infected with the same bug.

Hannibal probably wants me to answer Murdock's question, to admit I should have paid closer attention to what Meg Wainwright might have been scheming. But how do I answer?

Do I admit that I only saw the gorgeous woman and not the vengeful cat inside?

I'm so busy trying to frame an answer that I don't notice what's happening with Murdock. I'm thankful he _is_ quiet. It buys me more time.

"How was I to know that someone on staff at the VA wasn't actually a psychiatrist at all? They're supposed to check the credentials of the people they hire, aren't they?" I mutter it just loud enough for both Hannibal and Murdock to hear.

I hear the Colonel sigh again. There's nothing from my buddy. I don't know what I thought he could say to that but I expected him to say something.

I glance out at the forest again. We seem to be hovering in one spot and when I look at Murdock, I see how pale he is. Sweat beads his forehead.

Something's wrong.

Only a second later, Hannibal's worried voice comes over the headset. "Captain?"

"Murdock?" I find my voice. He doesn't respond. Just continues to stare at something on the ground.

I try to follow his gaze. All I see is the sun glinting off the windows of a small cabin in the forest. I don't know what he sees.

And that's not good.


	31. Chapter 31 Pilot Error

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

I wanna fly to the stars above me.

I wanna find a place where I can be what I'm supposed to be.

I wanna fly with the birds around me.

And watch the world spinning round from high up in the sky.

From _I Wanna Fly_ by Bad Boys Blue

Chapter 31 Pilot Error

When I hear the Colonel sound real worried 'n' say "Captain?" I figure pretty quick he mus' be seein' what I do. That shiny thing 'mong the trees reflectin' the sunlight spells danger with a capital D.

I hear Faceman say somethin' . . . coulda been my name . . . does he see it too?

Sweat's startin' t' trickle down my back. We're easy t' spot from the ground. I don' know what kinda spell she could use t' pick us outta the sky but she a'ready proved she wants us both dead.

It's up t' me t' keep her from doin' it. Like it was back there at her 'partment.

"What're you looking at, Captain?" I can't tell exactly what Hann'bal's tone means. It don' sound like he's worried 'bout the flash in the trees as much as he's worried 'bout me seein' things. Over time I've come t' be able t' know when he thinks I ain' in reality.

His question confuses me. I thought he saw it, too, 'n' now I ain' sure _what_ I think I see. That glint starts t' change forms back 'n' forth from one thing t' 'nother . . . like a lotta things do when I ain' good in the head . . .

It looked like it coulda been some sort o' night vision scope 'r somethin' . . . 'n' then it starts lookin' like the window on a house.

 _She_ wouldn' be able t' access that kinda weapon. At least, I don' think she could. But maybe it's someone she possessed 'n' sent t' make us crash.

"There's somethin' down there, Colonel. Don' know if it's friendly 'r not." I bite the inside o' my cheek t' keep from sayin' who I think it is. He'd pass it off as paranoia . . . 'r would he?

Somebody's _gotta_ see the danger we're in. Or am I the only one?

oooooo

 _Friendly?_

That sounds too much like he thinks we're still in Nam. That's _never_ good.

I don't know what's happening with my buddy but I do know I'm the closest to him to intervene and bring him back to reality.

"Murdock." I say his name and reach out to touch his left elbow. He flinches away. He glances at me briefly out of the corner of his eye and returns his attention to the ground, his gaze fixated on that flash of light down there.

His breaths are short and shaky. Keeping his palm on the cyclic, he uncurls his fingers before wrapping them back around the control as if to keep them from stiffening up in case quick action is required.

I reach out to him again but this time he pushes my hand away, leaving one of the controls unattended. Not a good thing, no matter how skilled of a pilot my buddy is.

"I know what I'm doin'. She ain' gonna make us crash if I can help it."

She?

Now I think I understand what's going on in his head. It has to have something to do with Meg. Guilt over what kind of mental torture Murdock is in wells up inside me. He's reacting this way because of my stupidity. There's no time to analyze why I feel that way.

I can't do anything but try to talk him back into reality. He won't let me touch him.

"Murdock . . . " Before I can say anything more, Hannibal interrupts.

oooooo

From what I can hear Face saying and from what I can see of Murdock's reaction to him, I know I have to intervene.

"Report, Captain. What do you see?" I have to know what he _thinks_ he sees before I can decide how to steer him back to reality. Face doesn't have the authority to demand that kind of detailed answer.

I curse silently as Murdock hesitates. It's time to intensify the chain of command approach. "Spit it out, Captain! _What do you see?_ "

The harsh tone of voice has the desired effect. Murdock swallows heavily and appears to try to compose himself before responding.

"That flash in the trees down there, Colonel. It's . . . " I see him squint for several seconds.

 _Take your time, Captain. Get your bearings._

He visibly relaxes and sighs softly. His hands lose their tense grip on the cyclic and collective. "It's the sun reflectin' off a cabin window."

I want him to pull himself together all the way. "I think we should go down to the treetops and take a closer look. Don't you?"

He shakes his head like he's trying to get rid of the last foggy scenes of a bad dream. "Th . . . that's n . . . not necessary, Colonel."

"It wasn't a suggestion."

"But, Colonel . . . " he manages to say.

"Take us down, Captain. Let's check it out and relieve all of our minds." When the chopper continues to hover, I add sternly, "That's an order."

oooooo

My mind was playin' tricks on me . . . how could I o' been so wrong?

But takin' the chopper down t' take a look? I feel stupid 'nough for lettin' 'em both see my paranoia.

A nagging thought chews at my insides.

 _He ain' gonna trust me t' fly 'em anywhere anymore if I don' do what he says. 'N' maybe he won' even then after this li'l episode._

The thought o' bein' grounded forever 'cause I can't tell the scope of a weapon from a cabin window continues t' eat at me. I maneuver the chopper to a position jus' 'bove the trees 'n' directly over the cabin.

At least there ain' no vehicles parked 'round it. No one's home t' witness my shame.

"What do you see, Captain?"

His voice ain' angry. Hard t' tell what Hanni'bal's thinkin' 'bout this whole thing.

Might as well 'fess up.

"No one's 'round. It's jus' a cabin in the woods." My voice sounds quiet 'n' ashamed even t' _my_ ears.

"That's what I see, too. Good. Take us back to B. A. and Chuck."

So he _has_ given up on me. My heart sinks inside me like a boulder in the middle of a lake.

I glance over at my bes' friend 'n' see a mix o' pity 'n' relief etched on 'is face. It don' make me feel any better t' know he prob'ly understands now what's goin' on.

B'cause Hann'bal's grounded me.

'N' if I can't fly 'em anywhere, why should they spring me from the VA anymore? I'm pretty much worthless then.

oooooo

As soon as Hannibal gets behind the steering wheel . . . and _who_ said he could drive my Vette anyway? . . . I protest how he handled things up there.

"What did you _think_ was going to happen, Colonel? You saw him."

Hannibal's eyes are icy as he responds. "I saw him."

That's it? That's all he's going to say? Hannibal just put the three of us into an extremely dangerous position and I'd like to know why.

I wait for an explanation.

Seconds pass.

Finally I say something to break the uncomfortable silence. "If you were trying to help him . . . "

"He wasn't the only one needing it."

I rake my fingers through my hair in frustration. It feels slightly greasy. How long has it been since I took a shower? I don't remember.

"Okay. So I've let a few things slide."

Hannibal gives me a pointed glance before returning his attention to the road.

I let out an exasperated sigh. "Okay! I've been a bit distracted lately. I know . . . " I close my eyes, realizing I have to tell him why. "I know Meg's been locked up and waiting for a psych evaluation and trial. But it's like she's put a curse on me. I feel like she's out there still able to kill me."

I see from the corner of my eye that Hannibal is taking my words seriously. He nods as I finish. Then he says something that makes me look in the rearview mirror at the van which follows us.

"Maybe Murdock feels the same way. When we get to the motel, find out and see what you can do."

oooooo

Fool's brain's workin' overtime. I can see it in the way he stares out the van windshield like he ain' really seein' anything at all.

He ain't said a word ta me since they landed. Just got in an' sat down in the front seat. He looks lost an' I don't know how ta fix him.

It's gotta mean Hannibal's plan didn't work like it was supposed to. Maybe the next part of the plan'll work.

Wasn't it Hannibal that told me they both needed ta take baby steps ta get better? Not ta expect anythin' right away? Hope he's right.

The Colonel's wrappin' up talkin' ta that Chuck guy. They shake hands an' he gets in the driver's seat of the Vette. Faceman's beside him. At least _he_ seems ta be willing ta talk. I head down the road ta the motel rooms Hannibal's rented for the next couple o' nights. It's phase two of the Colonel's plan.

Murdock . . . he just don't seem ta even be aware we're movin'. I'm glad when we finally pull up in front of the motel.

Can't stand the silence.


	32. Chapter 32 The First Step Is Hardest

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

The world got smashed to pieces,

And put back together

The wrong way.

Why you leaving me now?

There must be some doubt in your mind,

Can't you open your heart?

Don't want to be left behind.

From _Left Behind_ by Aqualung

Chapter 32 The First Step Is Hardest

I get no struggle from the fool when I open his door. There ain' a response at all.

"We're here, fool. Time ta get out." I don't mean ta make it sound like I'm mad at 'im. He flinches anyway. It's almost like my voice's a stick of dynamite that's gone off close by without warnin'.

"Hey. It's alright, man. Why ya so jumpy?" I try ta make it right by puttin' one of my hands on his shoulder. I didn't notice it before but he's shakin'. Not a lot but it's enough for me to feel it through his jacket.

He looks like he don't even know I'm here beside him. I don't know what he's seein'. He still's got that dazed faraway look in his eyes. Same look he gets when somethin' happens that reminds him of Nam. What the hell _happened_ when they was up there?

"Colonel." I motion for Hannibal, keepin' one hand on Murdock in case he snaps outta it an' tries ta run away.

Hannibal turns to Face an' drops a room key in his hand. "You and Murdock will be in Room 207. B. A. and I will be right next door in 205. Why don't you go get the door open for him?"

I see Faceman nod but he seems ta hesitate when he looks at Murdock. He opens his mouth, maybe ta give Hannibal some guff, maybe ta try an' help me get Murdock movin' . . . I won't ever know 'cause the Colonel points at the motel an' growls, "Move, Lieutenant."

Face gives Murdock one more look. Then turns away an' follows orders. If he'd done that ta begin with . . .

oooooo

Grounded.

'N' that means I ain' worth anythin' t' the team. Sure, I'm pretty good pitchin' explosives at bad guys . . . played a li'l baseball in high school so I know I got a good arm . . . but they don' a'ways _need_ that.

B'sides, after layin' tied up nex' t' that bomb for days, not knowin' if the team was gonna listen 'n' stay 'way like I tol' them to, I'm a li'l less likely t' have that sorta thing too close t' me. Can't be too careful.

No . . . the thing that got me on the team t' b'gin with was my flyin' skills. If I don' have that, I don' have anythin'.

So what're they gonna do now? Leave me somewhere 'n' give Doc a heads up t' come get me?

It ain' up t' Faceman 'r the Big Angry Mudsucker. It's Hann'bal's d'cision.

'N' didn' I jus' prove how dangerous it could be for them t' trust me in the air?

"We're here, fool. Time ta get out."

I jump jus' 'bout a mile in the air when the Big Guy says that. Didn' know we'd even stopped. 'N' when did he get outta the van 'n' open my door?

I'm startin' t' lose my grip on what's goin' on 'round me. That's real bad. I gotta stay on guard. Don' know when the witch's gonna make 'nother appearance.

'N' I can't stop shakin'. Don' know why. Maybe the witch's put a curse on me.

The Big Guy plants his hand on my shoulder. I'm guessin' he's thinkin' I'm gonna run off if I ain' restrained. He may be right.

Restraints. If I can't ever fly 'gain, it's gonna drive me the rest o' the way t' Looney Tunes Town. Then they _will_ have t' use restraints on me.

The mudsucker's hand's heavy. He weighs me down so I can' get 'way if I want to. That's not all he does by holdin' me here. His touch helps me refocus on what's goin' on 'round me.

We're parked in front of a hotel. Two floors, a wrap-'round balcony with loungin' chairs on the second level, outer stairs leadin' t' the second floor. So now what? Is this where they're plannin' on leavin' me?

But didn' Hann'bal a'ways say, even when I was losin' my mind in the POW camp, that we don' ever leave one o' our own b'hind? He kept his promise then. Will he now?

I'm strugglin' t' keep the ol' mem'ries o' the camp outta my head . . . I got 'nough t' torment me right now, thank ya . . . then I see Hann'bal pass somethin' t' Faceman 'n' point.

I'm tryin' t' figure out why we're here when I notice my buddy lookin' at me. For a couple o' seconds our eyes meet. Can't tell what he's thinkin' from this distance. Then he turns 'n' heads t'ward the stairs.

So we're on the second floor. O' course we would be. It'd be harder for me t' get 'way than if we were on the first floor. Hann'bal's thought o' everythin'.

But what do I care anymore? If I'm grounded, it don' matter where I am.

oooooo

I'm not surprised that Face didn't obey my order immediately. He's worried about Murdock but he doesn't want to have to talk about Meg Wainwright to anyone, especially not with Murdock. And he knows that's exactly what I want them to do.

I've got bigger problems than his wounded pride to deal with.

B. A. can't get Murdock to move. Ever since he landed the chopper, he's been silent and distant. It's the sort of thing we've seen whenever he first wakes from nightmares.

From what he said up there, I have to wonder if he slipped into that other world for a few moments. Maybe it was too soon to have him back in the air.

I thought it was a safe place for both of them to settle their problems.

I guess I was wrong.

It's time for phase two of my plan to come together but it won't happen if we can't get Murdock to move under his own power.

I approach B. A. and Murdock, hoping he'll snap out of it when he hears a direct command. It worked up in the air. It should work on the ground, too.

"Captain. You're going to bunk with Face." I open the passenger's side door and dig out his duffel bag. Richter made sure it was packed and ready before we left. Murdock couldn't have done it himself. While I do that, B. A. somehow gets our pilot out of the van. I hear Murdock gasp out a sharp "No!"

When I look again, B. A. is standing behind Murdock, both hands on his shoulders. I don't want to know how much of a struggle it was to get him out of that seat.

I hold the duffel out to him.

He stands frozen to the spot, staring at his bag as if he'd never seen it before.

When he raises his eyes and meets mine, I see indecision. He's measuring me, wanting to ask me something.

"Anything else you want to say?"

He hesitates and I wait for a couple of seconds. The sooner Face and Murdock can talk out their problems the better.

When it looks like he can't put the words together to ask his question, I make a decision and press the bag into his arms. "Good. Your room number is 207. In an hour I'll have some pizzas delivered. In the meantime, get settled in. We'll be here for at least two nights."

I nod at B. A. to release him. I'm satisfied when Murdock slowly turns toward the hotel and trudges to the exterior stairway without looking back.

Face and he have a lot to hash out.

oooooo

When I get in the door of the room Hannibal rented out I see how much they depend on my skills to scam _good_ accomodations for us. I sniff the air and detect the distinct smells of dogs, urine, stale cigarette smoke and God knows what else. A large black stain decorates the carpet in front of the only armchair in the room. The armchair seat cushion is stained and torn in a couple of places.

I spy the door to the bathroom and say a little prayer that the shower is clean and there's no hair or bodily fluids on any of the surfaces.

I shudder when I look at the two queen-sized beds. If the room smells this bad I don't want to even sit on either of those. My skin crawls just thinking about what may lurk under the covers or in the mattress.

Maybe it isn't such an awful idea after all for Murdock and me to spend a lot of time talking. And I wonder if B. A. has a sleeping bag or two in the van.

oooooo

If Hann'bal hadn' rushed me I was gonna ask 'im if I was grounded and for how long. If he tried t' avoid answerin', I'd know for sure he plans on leavin' me b'hind.

Well, I got two nights left with the team b'fore they call Doc t' come get me.

Might as well make things right with Face, tell 'im t' watch 'is back. B'cause in two nights, I ain' gonna be 'round t' watch _for_ him. But how do I 'xplain what he's s'posed t' watch for without soundin' paranoid?

I move slowly. I'm not lookin' forward t' spendin' hours with Face tryin' t' not talk 'bout the witch 'n' how she's cursed me.

But that's what Hann'bal wants 'n' he ain' gonna rest 'til we talk.

So I might as well get it over with.


	33. Chapter 33 The One With the Problem

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or televisin series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

And ah, the stories we can tell

And if it all blows up and goes to Hell

I can still see us sitting on a bed in some motel

Just listenin' to the stories we can tell

From _Stories We Could Tell_ by The Everly Brothers

Chapter 33 The One With the Problem

The smells hit my nose soon as I open the door. I immediately wonder what kinda hellhole Hannibal put us in. Mus' not o' had the kinda charms Faceman uses t' get _good_ rooms.

I'm greeted by a _very_ unhappy, _thoroughly_ disgusted buddy.

He stands in the center o' the room, bein' careful not t' touch _anythin'_. His eyes keep dartin' 'round like he 'xpects an army o' roaches 'r mice t' attack him. He's in full-fledged fight 'r flight mode.

His reaction t' our lodgin' for the night would usually be amusin' but not now. Hann'bal's got a reason for this. I drop my duffel on one o' the beds 'n' hear him suck in a breath.

"You aren't going to actually _sleep_ there, are you?" His tone's shock 'n' revulsion all rolled up t'gether in one question.

I shrug my shoulders. Stuffin' my hands in my pants pockets, I continue t' take in the rest o' the room, avoidin' his eyes.

"You don't know what kind of _vermin_ lives in those sheets."

I love the way he stresses the word 'vermin.' Has he forgotten what kinda vermin pestered us on a minute by minute basis in the POW camp . . . no . . . _no!_ . . . don' think 'bout that . . .

I snort 'stead o' answerin' 'n' have a seat on the corner o' the bed jus' t' spite him. I glance at my friend 'n' look 'way 'gain. The 'xpression on his face is priceless.

This'd be more fun if I was sure Hann'bal wasn' gonna ground me 'n' leave me in the VA t' rot.

"At least let me ask the Colonel if B. A. has a couple of sleeping bags and a plastic tarp to throw over . . . "

I interrupt him. "Naw. I'm good. You can take the armchair. It's prob'ly cleanest thin' in this room." I stare down at the floor. "Guess Hann'bal picked this place out, huh?"

I glance at Face 'n' see him stare at the chair with narrowed eyes. Shudderin' once, my buddy b'gins t' pace, still takin' care his clothes don' brush 'gainst anythin'. I s'pose he thinks the germs 'n' critters won' catch up t' him if he keeps movin'. Like me, he shoves his hands in his pockets. With him, it's t' avoid touchin' anythin'.

Me? It's an attempt t' keep him from seein' how much my hands're shakin'. That chopper incident still ain' left my mind. How could I o' been so mistaken?

"Yeah. Hannibal picked this place out. They knocked _me_ out, remember? Maybe this is the punishment for disobeying his order and taking you to Meg's apartment to recuperate." He whirls toward me, his eyes flashin' anger. Not quick 'nough t' see me flinch at the mention o' the witch's name.

Jabbin' his finger in the air in my direction, he rants on. "Yeah. I bet that's what this is. He knows I'd rather do one of his obstacle courses a _hundred_ times than spend a night in a seedy motel like this."

He goes back t' pacin', runnin' a hand through his hair like he does when he's frustrated. That's the most combin' his hair's had for a few days I'm guessin'.

He's gonna wear a trench in the carpet if he don' stop. B'sides, it's drivin' me . . . crazy? Silly me. I a'ready am. Without meanin' to, I snicker a li'l at that thought.

"You think that's funny?" He's standin' inches in front o' me in a second, hands on hips. "Well, do you?"

There's no mistakin' the angry tone t' his voice.

I'm pretty sure pissin' Face off ain' what Hann'bal wants.

"No. It ain' funny." Leanin' forward with my elbows on my knees 'n' my hands clasped t'gether, I frown down at my shoes as he goes back t' doin' what he was doin'.

'N' then it hits me. The reason why Hann'bal chose the mos' fleabitten motel room in California, maybe the whole world, for Faceman 'n' me t' stay in.

"I know what Hann'bal wants. He ain' gonna let us outta here 'til we're good 'gain. He knows it'll quicken things up a bit if there's an incentive." I take a breath, a deep breath 'cause what I gotta say is somethin' he needs t' hear, not somethin' I wanna say.

"Face the facts, muchacho. Hann'bal sees we ain' no use t' him the way we are. Right now, we'd prob'ly get one o' us shot." I make a face at the thought it's prob'ly jus' my buddy he wants t' make good 'gain.

"Maybe." Face stops pacin' 'n' takes t' combin' through his hair with his fingers 'gain. For a minute 'r two he thinks 'bout what I said. I take the chance t' say more 'n I prob'ly should.

"I mean, look at you. Look at _me_. Somethin's wrong in our heads 'n' b'tween _us_ 'n' Hann'bal wants it fixed b'fore he'll take 'nother mission."

When he moves, it startles me. In a secon' he's standin' in front o' me, glarin' down at me. I lean back 'gainst my duffel 'n' blink up at him. Don' know what's he's gonna do.

"What was all that about up there in the chopper?" He d'mands an answer.

His question makes me uneasy. Do I tell 'im who I've been 'fraid of? What's kept me barricaded in my room at the VA?

I hesitate too long 'n' his mouth curls into an angry smirk. "Ha! I thought so! Maybe it's just _you_ that needs to get right. Well, I can't be your therapist all the time." He a'most spits that in my face.

I might be . . . no, I _am_ . . . crazy but . . . _I'm not the only one that needs to get right in the head._

He walks 'way from me, all ready t' pick up his pacin' 'gain. B'fore he can, I try 'n' 'xplain what happened up there. If Hann'bal dumps me from the team, my bestest buddy should know why.

"I thought there was somethin' aimed at us 'n' ready t' make us crash. I . . . " I don' know how t' tell 'im the nex' part. I swallow 'n' force the words out. 'N', boy, do they come out!

"I think Meg Wainwright's a witch 'n' she cast a spell on me that makes me 'fraid t' leave my room. 'N' I thought she had someone or somethin' waitin' for us down there that'd take out the chopper 'n' kill us all."

I'm talkin' crazy . . . I know it but I can't stop 'til it's all out. Face's been 'bout the only one that understands me . . . even when I don' understand myself. So I keep on babblin'.

"She wants us dead, Faceman. I know it. Sometime, somewhere, she's gonna _be_ there 'n' then it'll be curtains for me. 'N' for you, too. I've had nightmares . . . real bad ones like I was back in Nam but they ain' 'bout Nam . . . they're 'bout her 'n' her killin' me. 'N' now Hann'bal's prob'ly grounded me for life 'cause he can't trust me b'hind the controls o' any plane 'r chopper anymore."

He stops midstep 'n' tenses up when I call Meg a witch. He jus' stands there with his back t' me as I let it all out.

For a few seconds, I wait for him t' turn 'round 'n' tell me Meg ain' a witch 'n' my nightmares're jus' me bein' me.

Finally he speaks. "Nightmares?" His voice's barely a croak.

I pick at my fingernails, not sure what he's gonna say nex'. "I can't sleep 'r let down my guard. I keep thinkin' she's gonna find a way t' attack me. When Hann'bal tol' me back at the VA he needed me t' talk t' you 'n' you weren' leavin' his 'partment 'cause you were 'fraid o' somethin' . . . "

Face's hands curl inta fists 'n' I stop. I don' wanna be his punchin' bag if this's makin' him mad. I don' wanna lose our friendship over all this.

"He said that, huh?"

I've a'ready said too much. Maybe sayin' nothin's better.

Got plenty o' experience stuffin' bad mem'ries down so deep they don' show on the outside. Maybe my days tied up nex' t' that bomb . . . the weeks o' hidin' from the shadows that Meg sent t' do me harm . . . maybe all that's somethin' more t' stuff 'way in that dark closet deep inside me . . . but, man, is that closet startin' t' get full. One more thing 'n' all o' them're gonna bust out 'n' drive me 'round the bend . . .

I'm not surprised when Face says what he does. "He's wrong. _You're_ the one with the problem. Not _me_."


	34. Chapter 34 On a Tightrope, Lookin' Down

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

You're on a tightrope ride, nobody by your side

Well, you're all alone, gotta find a new home

Don't go over the line. You better keep on time

Or you'll lose your mind on your tightrope ride

Watch out, don't fall! Careful, don't slip!

From _Tightrope Ride_ by The Doors

Chapter 34 On a Tightrope, Lookin' Down

I listen to Murdock answer my question. Maybe he thinks he's making sense when he says he claims Meg is a witch but I don't believe him. I know she isn't. She couldn't be.

And it's his paranoid delusions, not mine, that made him afraid to leave his room and think we would be attacked from below. Maybe he's off his meds.

Of course. That has to be it. I mean, look at him. I've seen long term Skid Row bums that looked and smelled better. And made more sense.

I know Meg attacked me and I know why. I know she wants us both dead.

But that doesn't make her a witch that can cast spells on people. I think I could spot something like that. I can con the best of them and know when a con is being played on me, I know I can. She just blindsided me.

That's all over now. She's locked away. She can't hurt either of us anymore.

Murdock's obviously getting more agitated. His words are coming out faster like he opened a Pandora's box of crazy thoughts he kept locked away. He won't stop until the box is empty and all of his personal demons are in the room with us. I can understand why B. A. calls it jibber-jabber. It doesn't make sense.

I have my back deliberately turned away from him. I can't watch the panic consume him or I'll lose my temper and do or say something that will damage our friendship. I don't know why I'm so angry at him. He can't help himself.

I decide to ask Hannibal if he thought to bring along Murdock's medications. If he did, I'm going to force my buddy to take an anti-anxiety pill. Or maybe two or three. I'll ask B. A. for a tarp and two sleeping bags at the same time. It'll get me out of here for a few minutes so both of us can cool down.

Before I can turn toward the door, Murdock says something that stops me.

Nightmares.

Just to make sure I'm hearing him right I repeat the word. Why did my throat get so constricted all of a sudden? Given enough time, the nightmares become weaker and fade away. Don't they? But maybe not for him.

So that's the reason he's let his personal hygiene fall to the wayside. He's been in a state of perpetual alert. And he's been alone. He hasn't had Hannibal or B. A. . . . or me, I have to admit . . . to reason with him or watch with him until his fear passes.

I feel guilt rising up inside me. He's my best friend and I abandoned him to his fears.

My own recent nightmares sound strangely similar to his. While I try my hardest not to let the memory of those dreams get to me . . . not now, when Murdock needs someone to talk him through them . . . he says something else that sets the match to my temper.

"When Hann'bal tol' me back at the VA he needed me t' talk t' you 'n' you weren' leavin' his 'partment 'cause you were 'fraid o' somethin' . . . "

I'm not afraid of anything. And I don't need a psych ward patient to give me therapy. I don't need it.

Damn Hannibal!

Involuntarily I curl my fingers into fists. Right about now, I could punch the wall. Why am I so angry?

"He said that, huh?" I barely get the words out.

Murdock turns quiet. Everything bottled up inside him has come out. I wish he could have waited for Doctor Richter and released it to him but he didn't.

Hannibal was nuts to take Murdock out of the care of his doctor to have me try to work him through his paranoia. I can never be Murdock's therapist. He has too many issues that I can't deal with.

I have to say something. He's waiting for it.

Well, screw both Hannibal and Murdock.

"He's wrong. _You're_ the one with the problem. Not _me_."

He swallows so hard I can hear the click in his throat. I don't turn around.

For a few seconds I hear nothing else but his rapid panicked breaths. The bedsprings squeak and I hear him walk to the door.

"Gotta . . . gotta get some . . . some air," he stammers. The door opens and closes and I'm alone in the room.

oooooo

Over the receiver I hear Faceman's voice. "You aren't going to actually _sleep_ there, are you?"

I look over at Hannibal and see his smirk, Man takes pride in his plans and this one seems ta be workin' so far. Faceman'll do anything ta get outta that motel room. That's the plan anyway.

"At least they're talkin', Colonel." I watch Hannibal as he lights a fresh cigar an' settles back in the passenger's seat.

"If I know Face, he'll be more than willing to hash things out with Murdock if it means he won't have to spend a single night in that room." He chuckles an' I see an amused glint in his eyes.

"You don't know what kind of _vermin_ lives in those sheets" we hear over the receiver.

I ain' no pansy when it comes ta roughin' it but I ain' seen the inside of the motel room either. "It's that bad?" I don't need an answer to my question. Hannibal's grin says it all.

"So we got a room next ta them?" I'll follow orders an' sleep there if I hafta but I won't like it.

Before the Colonel can say anything, Face speaks again. "At least let me ask the Colonel if B. A. has a couple of sleeping bags and a plastic tarp to throw over . . . "

I frown at Hannibal. "We only got one tarp and two sleepin' bags. That ain't enough for all of us."

The Colonel shrugs an' breathes out a puff of smoke. I'm startin' ta think he planned that, too.

So far I ain't heard the fool say a word. Worries me a bit. He's been too quiet ever since he landed the chopper.

I hear him say, "Naw. I'm good. You can take the armchair. It's prob'ly cleanest thin' in this room." He's quiet for a moment. "Guess Hann'bal picked this place out, huh?"

Face answers him. "Yeah. Hannibal picked this place out. They knocked _me_ out, remember? Maybe this is the punishment for disobeying his order and taking you to Meg's apartment to recuperate." Silence, then, "Yeah. I bet that's what this is. He knows I'd rather do one of his obstacle courses a _hundred_ times than spend a night in a seedy motel like this."

There's the sound of someone walkin' t'ward an' then away from the hidden transmitter. Back an' forth for a few seconds, then a snicker.

I don't know what the fool's found ta laugh at but Face don't seem ta find it funny.

"You think that's funny? Well, do you?" Man, is he pissed. I don't hafta see his face ta know that.

Murdock says what I expect him ta say ta keep peace between 'em. "No. It ain' funny."

The pacin' sound starts up again. Face's gotta be really uncomfortable in that room. Sorta like making him wear sweats from K-Mart ta do an obstacle course.

Takes a while before there's any more talkin'. I gotta wonder if Hannibal's plan's gonna fail.

Suddenly Murdock speaks again.

"I know what Hann'bal wants. He ain' gonna let us outta here 'til we're good 'gain. He knows it'll quicken things up a bit if there's an incentive." He pauses for a second, then, "Face the facts, muchacho. Hann'bal sees we ain' no use t' him the way we are. Right now, we'd prob'ly get one o' us shot."

I glance at Hannibal to see him nod his head in approval. He mutters, "Good for you, Captain. You figured it out. Now, both of you, finish this." Hannibal leans forward ta listen, The man's intense right now.

I shake my head. Just because ya got them talkin' don't mean they're gonna talk about the things they're s'posed to. Know the fool, he'll start fillin' the air with jibber-jabber that don't mean anythin' just 'cause he's nervous.

"Maybe." Faceman agrees, his footsteps stopping.

Murdock keeps talkin'. "I mean, look at you. Look at _me_. Somethin's wrong in our heads 'n' b'tween _us_ 'n' Hann'bal wants it fixed b'fore he'll take 'nother mission."

It makes sense what he's sayin' an' I don't doubt that's why Hannibal wants this done an' over with.

Face breaks in again with a question. He don't sound patient. "What was all that about up there in the chopper?"

Murdock don't answer right away. I gotta wonder what went on up there. I ain' been filled in on it yet.

Before Murdock says another word Face cuts in. He's mad. "Ha! I thought so! Maybe it's just _you_ that needs to get right. Well, I can't be your therapist all the time."

Even _I_ think that ain' very fair of Faceman ta say that. I hear footsteps again.

So what's the fool gonna say next? The man's mind don' seem ta run on the same track as the rest of us but he ain' so far outta it that I wouldn' trust him workin' beside me on a mission.

Hannibal shifts position. He's chewin' the end of his cigar like he don' know it's there. He's that focused. Somethin' about ta happen. Both of us sense it.

Then Murdock starts ta speak. His words are slow at first, then speed up.

"I thought there was somethin' aimed at us 'n' ready t' make us crash. I . . . I think Meg Wainwright's a witch 'n' she cast a spell on me that makes me 'fraid t' leave my room. 'N' I thought she had someone or somethin' waitin' for us down there that'd take out the chopper 'n' kill us all. She wants us dead, Faceman. I know it. Sometime, somewhere, she's gonna _be_ there 'n' then it'll be curtains for me. 'N' for you, too. I've had nightmares . . . real bad ones like I was back in Nam but they ain' 'bout Nam . . . they're 'bout her 'n' her killin' me. 'N' now Hann'bal's prob'ly grounded me for life 'cause he can't trust me b'hind the controls o' any plane 'r chopper anymore."

I don't surprise easy, not even when Murdock does somethin' stupid. But _this._ I don't know _what_ ta think about all of _this_. I can see from the way Hannibal flinches at the part about groundin' the fool from flyin' that he wasn't expectin' all of that either.

"Fool thinks he's been grounded, Hannibal. You gonna tell him different?" I don' believe I'm askin' that. Like I want ta have Murdock fly us anywhere. But I know why I'm askin'. Flyin's what makes Murdock . . . Murdock. If that's taken away from him . . .

"I'll talk to him." That's all the Colonel says. He puts up a hand to tell me to tell me to shut up. He don't wanna talk about it now.

Everything's quiet again for a few seconds. Then we both hear Face repeat one word. "Nightmares?"

"Yes, nightmares, Lieutenant. Now deal with them. Talk it out," Hannibal mutters. He's focused so much on the receiver that he don' notice his cigar's gone out.

Murdock starts talkin' again. "I can't sleep 'r let down my guard. I keep thinkin' she's gonna find a way t' attack me. When Hann'bal tol' me back at the VA he needed me t' talk t' you 'n' you weren' leavin' his 'partment 'cause you were 'fraid o' somethin' . . . "

The Colonel lets out a deep sigh an' shakes his head. "It was the only way to get Murdock to come with me. I had to appeal to his loyalty and friendship with Face. I had to convince him Face was in bad shape and no one else could help."

"He said that, huh?" Face's voice's gotten hard an' bitter.

Hannibal stubs out his cigar in the ashtray with a couple of quick angry twists. "Now the shit's hit the fan."

Before I can say anythin', Face speaks again. "He's wrong. _You're_ the one with the problem. Not _me_."

"You're wrong, kid," Hannibal says to himself more'n ta me. "You're dead wrong."

I hear nothin' for a minute. Hannibal's watching the door of the room where they are. He's holdin' onto the van door handle like he needs ta be ready for action.

I don't like how quiet it's gotten in there. I frown at the receiver like I can make them start talkin' again by doin' that. It's too quiet.

The sound of the bedsprings squeakin' makes both of us jump even though it ain' very loud.

"Gotta . . . gotta get some . . . some air." A second later the room door opens an' Murdock staggers ta the deck railing. He leans over it an' stares down at the ground. His hands're gripping the wood. He don' seem ta notice the van or us.

"What the hell's he doin', Colonel?" I don' like where this's goin'.

"Captain . . . " Hannibal says the one word an' opens the door on his side just as the fool swings one leg up an' over.

Both of us're out of the van an' movin' but Murdock's quick. He gets up on his feet, balancin' himself on that narrow wood railin' an' starts ta walk past each room like the railin's a tightrope an' he's doin' a circus stunt.

He hesitates midway an' looks down, then turns ta face the parkin' lot. Spreadin' his arms out ta either side, he closes his eyes.

I feel the word rumble in my chest before it comes outta my mouth.

"No!"


	35. Chapter 35 Options

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

Like a skywriter, rebel without a cause, drifting without an aim

But I can't seem to give up this flying game

I'm a wing walker, working without a net

That's all I've ever been

And I wonder if I'm ever coming down again

Some people say I'm losing touch with harsh reality

Because I can't accept the way it is with you and me

Stop living in the past, like some old pilot from a war that

wouldn't end

Like a barnstormer, safe with my heart and wings

How could I ever fall

So serenely do I glide above it all

From _Skywriter_ by Art Garfunkel

Chapter 35 Options

Well, the second part of my plan got one of them talking at least. We know what's wrong in _Murdock's_ mind and maybe between B. A. and myself we can help him through it.

Then Face says, "He's wrong. _You're_ the one with the problem. Not _me_."

Damn you, Face! Stop being stubborn. Admit you have a problem and you need help. All I can say out loud is "You're wrong, kid. You're dead wrong."

Richter told me Murdock is vulnerable right now. This hostility coming from his best friend isn't going to do anything but cause further damage. His uncertainty about his place on the team just contributes to it. I mentally kick myself for not knowing he had doubts.

I don't need to hear Face say "I told you so" to realize my plan hasn't run smoothly like I thought it would.

I debate whether to go up to the room to be a mediator . . . or referee . . . but decide in the end to just wait and see what happens. Murdock might pull out of it and challenge Face on what he just said. That's what I'm hoping but I'll be ready if that doesn't happen.

B. A.'s tense with the silence we're getting over the receiver. I told him to plant a bug in the room before he drove to the rendezvous point and strapped Face in the chopper. Now I'm glad I gave him that order.

The disadvantage to that is if Face discovers the bug he'll be even angrier than he is now.

Oh well. We have to have some way of monitoring what they're saying and doing in case it all falls apart.

Yes, I admit my plans don't always come together.

I wait with my hand on the door handle. I'm impatient for something to happen and when it does I involuntarily startle. The bedsprings squeaking isn't a very good sign. Neither is Murdock's weak voice. It's like Face's response took away his strength to keep fighting.

"Gotta . . . gotta get some . . . some air."

Murdock leaves the room and leans over the deck railing. Suddenly I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. It's at least fifteen feet from the deck to the pavement below. A fall from that height . . .

I see the pain and surrender in his expression as he stops and scans the pavement below.

I hear B. A. say something beside me but all of my attention is focused on Murdock. For a second, I think all he's doing is clearing his head but his next action tells me differently.

In one smooth movement, he swings his leg up and straddles the deck railing.

"Captain." The word comes out of my mouth even as I open the door and leave the van.

B. A. is right beside me all the way as we run toward the motel. Before we can get there, Murdock makes his next move, getting up on the railing and walking along it to the midpoint of the balcony.

He doesn't seem to be aware of anyone or anything but the distance down to the parking lot. If we try to get up either set of stairs to stop him, he might jump. If either of us say something, he might startle and fall.

I stop B. A. with one hand and shake my head.

For now, I hope Face stays in that room with the door closed. If he makes an appearance and tries to stop Murdock, he may not make it in time to prevent him from jumping.

Then Murdock does something that makes the bile rise to my throat. He closes his eyes and spreads his arms as if he's going to try to fly.

I hear B. A.'s shout and see him head for the set of stairs on the left. I head for the stairs on the right and hope we can get there before he does something rash.

He's as motionless as a statue. But will he stay that way until one of us can grab him and pull him to safety?

oooooo

The way Murdock said those words, the way he left the room, makes me regret what I just said. All he did was listen to Hannibal, worry about my well-being and leave the protection of his hospital room to come to my assistance.

Even if the Colonel lied to get him here, it was for his good. And mine, I guess.

It showed me what kind of friend Murdock is . . . and it makes me ashamed of the times I've taken advantage of that friendship. And the times I've almost destroyed it through a careless statement.

I don't know if I should go and talk to him now or if I should let him cool down. Hannibal is sure to send him back in here to make things right with me.

There's a problem with waiting for him to return: I don't know if I can muster the courage to sit anywhere in this flea-bitten rat-infested dump.

Maybe I'll go outside and get some fresh air, too. And if I should happen to run into him, we'll talk. I'll help him fight back the nightmares and memories.

With that goal in mind, I open the door and run face to face into Hannibal.

He shakes his head at me and impatiently gestures for me to go back into the room. His gaze is on something further down the long second floor balcony.

I glance only once in the direction he's looking and my chest constricts with dread. "Oh God no!" I whisper.

"Let B. A. and me handle this," he hisses at me. "You've said enough." He pushes past me, slowly edging toward my buddy standing on the railing.

I stare in stunned paralysis for only a few seconds before following Hannibal. I can't just let Murdock jump without trying to talk him down. It's my fault he's there to begin with.

oooooo

As soon's I leave that room my head starts t' clear. It don' mean Face's last jab didn' hurt. It hurt plenty.

I lean over the deck railin' 'n' 'xamine the paved parkin' lot b'low me. If even my best buddy thinks I'm too broke t' fix 'n' Hann'bal's gonna ground me, maybe kick me off the team, then what do I do?

I don' know why but my min' dredges up two quotes I read somewhere. I'm not even sure they fit this situation.

I mumble them t' myself, tryin' t' make sense o' them 'n' everythin' else. "A pilot lives in a world o' perfection, 'r not at all." My world's far from perfect right now. I continue t' scan the parking lot b'low. It must be a good fifteen feet from up here.

"Any landin' ya can walk 'way from's a good one." Hmm. Well, I s'pose ya could think o' this mess like it's a bad landin'. I ain' broken from it. I can still walk 'way. But where to?

Without thinkin' I swing myself up t' straddle the railin'. When I was growin' up, I did a lotta thinkin' sittin' up in the highest limbs o' trees 'r walkin' 'long the railin' o' the corral on my Gramma 'n' Grampa's farm. I guess 'cause I wasn' old 'nough t' take flyin' lessons from Mister Dunstable, my Grampa's World War I pilot buddy, bein' up higher'n the ground was the nex' best thing.

I pull myself up t' stand on the deck railin', then slowly 'n' carefully walk 'long it. I ain' stupid. I got a good sense o' balance. I ain' gonna fall.

If Hann'bal kicks me off the team . . . well, I could try my luck at bein' a wing walker. Can't pilot the plane. They won' let me 'cause I don' have a license no more. 'N' a certifiably crazy man like me ain' likely t' get 'nother one very soon.

But wing walkin' . . . I guess that wouldn' be so bad of a job. It's got jus' the right 'mount o' danger 'n' I'll be up in the sky.

I used t' think I'd be either a stunt pilot 'r a wing walker 'n' follow the barnstormin' circuit 'round the country. Gramma wasn' very happy 'bout that sort o' talk so I kept it t' myself. But walkin' that corral railin' was kinda my practice t' be a wing walker.

If I stop walkin' 'n' stretch my arms out, I can a'most feel the wind tryin' t' push me off the wing o' the plane, But I know what I'm doin'. I close my eyes 'n' 'magine I'm up there goin' through my act t' thrill the crowds b'low.

All I gotta do is convince the VA 'n' Doc Richter I'm sane 'n' get 'em t' say I'm sane 'nough t' live on my own.

'N' I gotta stop frettin' over what Meg could do t' me. If my head's in my work, it won' be worryin' over her curses 'n' witchcraft. First thing I'll do soon's Doc says I can go is t' find myself a stunt pilot willin' t' let me work with 'im. It won' be like bein' with the guys on a mission 'n' I'll miss each one o' them. But it'll be somethin'. The more I think 'bout it, the more I like the idea.

Yeah. That's what I'll do.

I'm Howlin' Mad Murdock, the Wing Walking, Death D'fyin' Marvel! Ain' nothin' gonna stop me!

oooooo

The first quote is from Richard S. Drury who served from 1965-1970, with a tour in Thailand during the Vietnam War (1969-1970). He is the author of _My Secret War._

The second quote comes from Gerald R. Massie who crash-landed a B-17 in 1944 and served in the U. S. Army Air Forces as an aerial photographer with the 91st Bomb Group, 323rd Bomb Squadron.

I thought both quotes would appeal to Murdock, especially the Massie quote.


	36. Chapter 36 Another World

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

Restless

I lie awake

And try to escape

Memories that never sleep

A taste of bitter sweet

I'll hold on to forever

Still I'm stuck in yesterday

I'm closer than ever

To the edge

And I'm falling

I'm falling

From the world I used to know

From _Falling_ by Clay Aiken

Chapter 36 Another World

Fool's gonna jump if we don' get there.

Fool's gonna fall if we both rush 'im.

Ta make it all worse, Faceman's come outta the room an' there's no tellin' _what_ he's gonna do when he sees what's goin' on. Maybe he'll try ta get ta him. Will the fool even listen if Face tries ta talk him down?

I'm already at the top of the stairs an' lookin' ta Hannibal for what he wants me ta do now.

Hannibal nods at me ta start walkin' t'ward them. He heads t'ward Murdock, Faceman followin'.

They ain' movin' very fast probably ta keep from makin' noise an' alertin' Murdock ta what they're doin'. I take a step only when they do an' listen for any creak of the boards under my feet.

The fool keeps stretchin' out his arms, keepin' his eyes closed, lookin' like he's ready ta take a swan dive off the deck railin'.

Now he's swayin' a li'l an' I'm still about ten feet away from him.

Hannibal sees the same thing I do an' moves a li'l faster. But neither of us will be in time if Murdock lets himself fall forward off the deck.

oooooo

Murdock's expression is one of contentment and peace, not anguish like you would think it would be if he intended to kill himself.

I don't understand it but I relax a little, knowing he's somewhat in control of whatever this is that he's doing.

When he starts swaying, I get worried again. Does he realize where he is and how dangerous his actions are?

Maybe he's detached himself from reality. If he has, that pavement below will bring him back to the real world quickly and painfully. I can't let that happen.

I try to push past Hannibal but he gestures for me to stay back.

Screw him! I'm not going to stand by and watch my best friend take a step into empty air.

Pushing the Colonel out of the way, I move quickly until I'm standing a foot away from Murdock, all the distance I need to reach out and grab him around the legs and pull him back to safety.

But I don't yet. I want to make sure what's going on in his head.

If I do something sudden and he thinks he's being attacked . . . I remember he said he thought Meg was a witch . . . he could struggle against my rescue efforts and fall.

"Uh . . . Murdock? Buddy?" I swallow the huge lump in my throat.

He doesn't answer right away. Maybe he _is_ thinking of jumping and is just summoning up the courage to do it.

I've got to get through to him. But how?

oooooo

As soon as I hear Face speak to Murdock, I realize that no matter what kind of hard feelings there were these past few weeks between them, they've become meaningless for now.

I hate to admit it, but Face was right to try his hand at getting Murdock to get down from that railing. B. A. edges closer until he's as near to him as Face is. Between the two of them, they should be able to drag Murdock to safety.

The sooner they can get him down the sooner I can reassure him that I have no intention of dropping him as our pilot.

Then we'll take care of the nightmares and fear that has paralyzed my men. Maybe I'll begin by suggesting they both take showers. They need it.

But for now, we have to focus on preventing Murdock from jumping.

oooooo

I 'magine myself balancin' on the upper wing of a Boeing Stearman, nothin' keepin' me from fallin' but the rack I lean 'gainst 'n' the safety harness 'n' cable that secures me t' the wing.

I wish I could open my eyes but if I do, all this'll vanish.

Reality can go t' hell! I don' wanna see any more reality if it means I can't ever be up here where I b'long anymore.

The wind tugs at my clothes 'n' threatens t' toss me off but I ain' 'fraid. My pilot does a loop de loop 'n' the world's turned upside down for a few seconds. Some folks'd be beggin' t' get back t' the earth after some o' the moves the guy in the cockpit makes. Not me.

This is my sky, my place o' safety 'n' peace. The only thing that'd be better is if I was the one flyin' this sweet li'l lady.

I howl with the pure d'light o' bein' up here 'n' stretch my arms out as wide as I can get 'em. If the sky were a woman, she'd be gettin' the hug o' her life.

"I am the Marvelous, Magnificent, Wingwalkin' Howlin' Mad Murdock." I say it out loud, knowin' no one, not even my pilot can hear me over the roar o' the engine 'n' buffet o' the wind. He's startin' his swoop down over the field where the people're watchin' us.

So what should I do as my first stunt? A walk t' the end o' the wing 'n' back? Yawn. Not daredevil 'nough.

A headstand? Gets the audience's 'ttention but it don' really get the blood pumpin' for me.

A freefall. That's it! Let the cable 'n' harness stop me. That'll bring 'em t' their feet.

'N' if I'm unlucky . . . well, I ain' the first wingwalker t' fall from the sky.

oooooo

I don't know what Faceman's waitin' for. Murdock ain' hearin' him.

The fool opens his arms out even wider 'n' lets out the kinda howl I r'member from Nam whenever he lifted us outta a hot LZ.

It's the kinda thing that'll freeze yer blood. It reminds me too much of bein' in a chopper with him at the controls. I can't let that yell get ta me. But what he says next jolts me ta action.

"I am the Marvelous, Magnificent, Wingwalkin' Howlin' Mad Murdock."

He ain't thinkin' straight.

He's gonna do somethin' stupid.

Well, I ain't gonna let him. Before he steps off the railin', I reach out with both arms ta grip him 'round his legs.

oooooo

I hear my buddy's howl and his words and know he's in some kind of delusion. I'm not sure what he's going to do but he isn't going to take the short way down to the parking lot below if I can help it.

I reach up to grab Murdock around the waist just as B. A. wraps his arms around his legs. He yelps with surprise and struggles to stay where he's at. Between us we pull him down from the railing and flat on his back on the deck. His head hits the floor so hard I flinch. For a second he stares up at me, stunned. Then he tries to squirm away, muttering something under his breath.

"What the hell, Murdock!" I force his shoulders down but he continues to resist. His legs bent, he bucks and flails against my hold.

B. A. has already released him. I notice he doesn't stand up. He just kneels there close enough to tackle Murdock if he should get to his feet and make a run for the railing. I guess he thinks that he might hurt Murdock if he has to step in.

"Stay still, fool! Don't make me hafta pin ya down," B. A. mutters as he narrowly avoids getting kicked.

Murdock manages to get one arm up. He takes a swing at me but there isn't enough force behind the punch. His fist hits my cheek and glances off.

"Could use some help, B. A." I admit defeat. Murdock is locked in some kind of alternate universe of his mind and it'll take all three of us to get him back.


	37. Chapter 37 The Witch Again

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

Hello,

Is there anybody in there?

Just nod if you can hear me.

Is there anyone at home?

Come on now

I hear you're feeling down

Well, I can ease your pain

And get you on your feet again

From _Comfortably Numb_ by Pink Floyd

Chapter 37 The Witch Again

I staked my money on the hope that the seedier the motel, the less likely we were to find civic-minded, law-abiding citizens occupying the other rooms. An advantage if either Face or Murdock became physically or vocally abusive during their involuntary imprisonment.

A curtain moves in the window beside B. A. I glare into the passively curious face of a girl young enough to still be in high school.

She has enough makeup on to be in a photo shoot for a Revlon magazine ad. She chomps her gum twice, blows a bubble once and glances back at someone behind her. I scan the length of the gap in the curtain and see much more bare skin than I needed to.

She abruptly closes the curtain, probably unwilling to give a nonpaying guy like me a free peek. Besides, she already has a 'client.'

There'll be no trouble coming our way from those two.

I bet the management doesn't want undue police presence either. Short of a gun being fired, they likely won't do anything. I'm counting on it.

So Murdock's howl and the long line of loud expletives he spits into his teammates' faces . . . thankfully in English and not Vietnamese . . . hasn't drawn attention from anyone else. I don't want to press our luck.

"B. A.! Face! Get him back in the room!" I keep my voice as low as I can. Murdock's choked threats and curses are still loud. I accompany my order with a nod back the way Face and I came.

I'm not sure where Murdock's mind is right now. Face takes one arm and B. A. the other and together they lift him to his feet. He tries to twist out of their hold and manages to land another punch, this time connecting with Face's mouth.

Face staggers a little but I'm behind him to keep him from falling. "I got you, kid." I steady him as he draws his hand over his lower lip and brings away blood.

"Sorry, li'l brother, but ya ain't gonna get in another shot like that." B. A. twists Murdock's arm behind his back. He wraps his arm around Murdock's waist and almost lifts him off his feet as he forces him toward the room. Murdock struggles but can't free himself from B. A.'s hold. And the entire distance he hurls threats and curses at us. At least, I _think_ he's yelling at us. He hasn't used our names.

"I don't know, Hannibal. I don't think his mind is back in Nam but he's acting like he is," Face slurs, touching his bleeding lip. "Crap, that hurt!" Frowning at his fingers, he complains. "He drew blood. Guess we aren't getting any ritzy hotel room any time soon . . . unless the desk clerk's pretty and takes pity on me."

Just the sort of comment I expect from him. He isn't getting out of this motel that easily. "He said something about Miss Wainwright being a witch." I give him a pointed look. "Know anything about that?"

"I'm pretty sure the only thing she is is a _very_ angry woman." I see him think for a few seconds and frown again. "Wait a minute! Were you listening in to what we said?"

He stops walking and plants his hands on his hips. I can see he demands an answer.

"I'll tell you but we've got to help B. A. so keep walking." I wait for him to drop his defensive stance and start moving again. "Would Murdock have told me what's causing his nightmares and paranoia if we hadn't?" I leave out the thought that I wanted to know what's been bugging _him_ just as much. Probably more since Murdock can get a degree of help from Richter but Face doesn't have the benefit of a psychiatric ward and therapist.

I hear the struggle inside the room even before Face opens the door and we slip inside. Murdock throws a wild punch at B. A., slips away from the attempt to grab him and darts toward the door. Just in time, I close it behind me and stand in his way.

"You're not leaving this room, Captain," I dodge his fist and catch his arm midair. I don't want to hurt him but he hasn't shown signs he knows who we are. If he did, he wouldn't be throwing punches and trying so hard to get away.

Twisting his arm behind him, I push him toward the bed and force him facedown on top of it.

In a muffled frightened voice, he wails. "She's everywhere! The witch's everywhere! Don'tcha hear her?"

"Snap out of it, fool!" B. A. growls, drawing near again to pin Murdock's legs. "Ain't no witches 'round here."

I glance up at Face. He's backed into a corner, staring at Murdock with a horrified look in his eyes. "Talk to him, Lieutenant!" I order.

Murdock yells again. "She's here! She's in my head 'n' I can't get 'er out!"

Face shakes his head like he's dazed. "I can't. There's no reasoning with him."

"Try anyway."

Murdock is thrashing around so much to escape, I'm afraid he's going to cause me to unintentionally dislocate his shoulder.

Face reluctantly comes closer until he's within a foot of the bed. He kneels on the floor and runs a hand through his greasy hair. Then he closes his eyes and swallows.

He doesn't seem to know what to say.

"Make 'er shut up! Ple-e-e-e-ase!" The last word is a long desperate wail. Murdock's breathing is erratic and shallow.

I can't begin to imagine what voices are tormenting him but if we can't get him settled down soon, the motel front desk attendant might call the police just to shut him up. This may be a seedy motel but the management won't stand for hours of screaming. It's bad business . . . even for their clientele.

"Talk to him, Lieutenant!"

oooooo

What does Hannibal expect of me? A miracle?

Murdock's back to talking about Meg like she's a witch. I don't know what happened when he was balancing on that railing out there but he seems to have become completely unglued.

Maybe he's been at breaking point ever since that near death experience tied up next to that bomb. And maybe he's finally snapped. In which case, I might not be able to help him.

"He'll need something more than me talking to him if he's had a nervous breakdown," I mutter, eyes closed against what I'm hearing. Seeing my best friend fragmenting into little pieces is worse.

B. A. snarls a nasty curse under his breath. He thinks I can talk Murdock out of this, too.

"I'm not his therapist, guys." Why do they always treat me like I am?

"Then go in the room next door and get the syringe and vial out of my duffel bag." Hannibal's voice is full of anger and disappointment.

Thankful to be doing something that takes me away from the desperate howling sound my best friend is making, I do as I'm ordered. It doesn't take me long to find it but when I come back and hold the syringe and vial out to Hannibal, he gives me an icy look.

"Well?"

I gape at him in disbelief. He doesn't expect me to . . . yes, he does.

"I can't, Colonel!"

Murdock's howls have lessened but his struggles to get loose haven't. If anything, they have intensified.

"Yes, you can! Do it now, Lieutenant!"

I fill the syringe with shaking fingers. Then I hesitate.

"What's keepin' ya, Faceman?" B. A. glares up from where he's positioned himself.

Murdock is thrashing around so much I'm afraid I'll break the needle off when I inject him.

Worse, he manages to twist his head enough to see what I have in my hand. That sets off a new round of terrified screams.

"Noooo . . . don' . . . nooo . . . "

Hannibal tightens his grip and somehow immobilizes Murdock's head with his shoulder by leaning forward.

"Now would be a good time, Face," he hisses at me.

I take a breath to steady myself and rasp an "I'm sorry" to Murdock before plunging the needle into his neck.

His agitated movements last for only a few seconds more. His eyelids slowly close as he relaxes into unconsciousness.

Hannibal and B. A. wait until they're certain he's completely sedated. Then they work together to turn Murdock over on his back and remove his shoes and jacket.

"Go get one of the sleeping bags and the tarp from the van, B. A." Hannibal nods toward the door and B. A. obeys.

As soon as he's gone, I go to sit on the edge of the bed beside Murdock. I shake my head, remembering how terrified he was a few moments ago. Now he looks peaceful except for a small occasional grimacing twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"So now what, Colonel?"

"We make him comfortable and wait for him to wake up." Hannibal walks over to the chair and sits down.

"It might be a long wait. I had no idea how much to give him." I try to avoid his scrutinizing gaze by looking at my buddy.

"That gives us time to discuss Miss Wainwright and the nightmares the two of you seem to be sharing, doesn't it?"

I glance at Hannibal and see his grim expression.

I almost wish I was as sedated as Murdock. Better that than admit to B. A. and the Colonel the influence Meg and her attempt to kill me had on me. Or to have to admit that from the moment I got involved with Meg Wainwright, I was wrong.


	38. Chapter 38 The Nightmare Returns

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

Why try to hide it?

Fight it...fight it!

I really don't like it...ain't nothin' I can do.

I really don't like it...I'm leaving it to you.

My little demon is coming after me.

My little demon...

It's all that I can do to keep that little demon...

To keep that little demon...

Just to keep that little demon away from you!

From _My Little Demon_ by Fleetwood Mac

Chapter 38 The Nightmare Returns

I couldn't b'lieve it at first, the way the witch managed t' pluck me off the wing o' the biplane without her bein' anywhere in sight. One minute I'm howlin' for the d'light o' bein' in the sky 'n' plannin' my freefall stunt 'n' then I feel her helpers grab me. My head connects hard with somethin' solid. I see white dots b'hind my eyelids. When I open my eyes, there's shadow people 'round me. 'Round them is blindin' sunlight that hurts too much t' look at.

I didn' fall far. Maybe we were still on the ground. Doesn' make sense but lately nothin' 'bout my world makes much sense.

"Get 'way from me . . . get 'way . . . " My voice doesn' go no higher 'n a mutter. I can't move much 'cause one o' them's still holdin' me down. Their voices come at me in waves. Their words ain' makin' sense. Everythin' 'round me's still blurry. Maybe I got a concussion from bangin' my head on the ground?

All I feel are the hands o' her demon helper. I hit at the air, hopin' somehow I can scare 'em off.

For a second I'm surprised when I feel somethin' like human flesh under my knuckles. But she can disguise herself t' be anythin' she wants. I know she can. So can her helpers. I find my voice 'n' start yellin' all kinds o' curses 'n' threats, hopin' t' sound less scared 'n I am. Gramma'd wash my mouth out with soap if she was 'live t' hear me.

They ain' scared o' _me_. That's for sure.

I'm pulled t' my feet. Got one o' her demons on either side o' me. Where they're gonna take me, I don' know. Don' intend on findin' out. If I made contact once maybe I can do it 'gain 'n' make 'em let me go.

My second punch finds its target. One o' the demons drops 'way from my side but the other one twists my arm up b'hind my back. It don' hurt a lot but it stops me from doin' much more. This demon's strong. I can't do nothin' but touch the ground a few times with my feet as it grips me 'round the waist 'n' half-pushes, half-carries, me t' I-don'-know-where.

Things get a li'l darker 'round me 'n' I'm released. I don' know where I am but I'm pretty sure it ain' anywhere safe. I throw 'nother punch. This time there ain' nothin' there.

Well, o' course there ain'. Demons ain' s'posed t' have any real substance t' them. Are they? But I a'ready hit one o' them twice. Didn' I?

No time t' think 'bout it. A shaft o' light opens up t' my side 'n' I run t'ward it.

Jus' as quick as it opens, it closes 'gain. Mus' be some kinda gatekeeper guardin' the door. I strike out 'gain but this time my arm's caught 'n' twisted b'hind me 'til it _does_ hurt. The Gatekeeper forces me forward . . . man, I'm gettin' tired o' bein' pushed here 'n' there . . .

I land belly down on a smelly soft surface but my captor doesn' release my arm. Not this time.

I can't hold my breath 'cause I'm bein' forced t' stay but if I could, I would. The urine smell combined with who-knows-what's chokin' me.

Somewhere in the blurry backgroun' there's a gleeful laugh I recognize. It's the laugh I've heard in my nightmares.

It's the witch.

"She's everywhere! The witch's everywhere! Don'tcha hear her?"

I yell, hopin' maybe someone'll hear me 'n' rescue me from her henchman's hold.

"Snap outta it, fool! Ain't no witches 'round here." That sounded like B. A. but it could be 'nother o' Meg's demons with a disguised voice.

Yeah, sure, the witch ain' here. 'N' I'm Baron von Richthofen come back t' life. Didn' I jus' hear her?

She laughs 'gain. I can't twist my head 'nough t' see where its comin' from so I focus on the laugh 'n' not the conversation the demons seem t' be havin' 'bout me.

It's then I realize I ain' hearin' the laugh through my ears . . . it's comin' from inside me . . . like all the other voices I've heard since I was a li'l kid . . . like all the voices that came back with me from Nam t' accuse me . . .

"She's here! She's in my head 'n' I can't get 'er out!" I can't shake my head 'cause the demon's got me tight 'gainst whatever this soft surface is I'm bein' forced t' lay down on.

I gotta get loose. If I don', the dreams I've had of her the last few weeks're gonna come true. I struggle as much as I can with one arm twisted high up on my back. For now, the pain's gotta take second place t' gettin' free.

"Your friends are so useful to me, Captain," she hisses in my head. "Your friend Hannibal did exactly what I wanted him to . . . get you to leave your barricaded room. And Face and B. A. played right along. Who do you _think_ is holding you down? Your precious Colonel and your friend B. A."

"Make 'er shut up! Ple-e-e-e-ase!" I can hardly breathe.

I give up tryin' t' form complete sentences. No one's listenin' anyway. But her voice keeps tauntin' me.

Only thing I know of that'll drown out the voices is howlin'. It's a'ways helped me in the past.

But how long can I howl b'fore my voice gives out?

I . . . gotta . . . get . . . loose . . . I gotta . . . I gotta . . .

She cackles like the witch she is. I feel her hot breath 'gainst my cheek . . . 'r maybe it's her demon helper, the Gatekeeper. Or is it really Hannibal? She can lie like the devil. I'm sure o' that. It can't be him. It can't be.

Pain coursin' through my shoulder tries t' distract me from fightin' with all I got.

Go 'head. Tear my arm outta its socket . . . if I don' get loose, the witch gets my soul. Better t' live with one arm than t' die without a soul.

Someone . . . 'r some _thing_ . . . leaves for a couple o' minutes, then comes back.

"What's keepin' ya, Faceman?" I hear B. A. say from somewhere.

Face'll save me from the witch . . . if he's here, I know we can d'feat her 'n' _all_ her helpers. The two o' us've fought 'gainst the odds b'fore 'n' won.

I twist my head, lookin' for him.

He stares at me like he's gotta tell me the world's worst news. Then I see it. The needle in his hand. He's gonna dope me up with somethin'. She got t' him, too.

'N' that'll leave me defenseless 'gainst the witch. 'N' after she's done with me . . . he's next.

"Noooo . . . don' . . . nooo . . . " I squirm harder than b'fore but the Gatekeeper pushes my head down into what I recognize now as a mattress.

I hear a voice that sounds like . . . Hannibal? . . . God no . . . has she really turned _him_ 'gainst us?

"Now would be a good time, Face."

Face says only two words t' me. "I'm sorry."

Same thing he said back at Meg's 'partment b'fore Hannibal 'n' B. A. carried him out rolled up in that damn white bearskin rug.

I feel the jab o' the needle in my neck. Startin' there, my body starts t' go numb. My brain gets fuzzy, then everythin' darkens.

My last thought b'fore I spin into the blackness: I ain' comin' back. She's got me now.

oooooo

I float through the void t' a freezin' cold I ain' ever felt b'fore.

'N' the darkness . . . the darkness is as black as the deepest depths of an unexplored cave.

Though I can't see anythin', I sense I don' have nothin' on but pants. I'm on my back. I try t' sit up but I find I still can't move. That hasn't changed.

It's too much like the scene in the nightmares . . . same feelin' o' dread . . .

I squint 'gainst the dark but it's no use . . . I can't see anythin', not even my hand if I _was_ able t' raise it t' an inch in front o' my face.

Face . . . he doped me with somethin' . . . prob'ly the juice we give B. A. t' get him on choppers 'n' planes.

Somethin' pointed strokes a path 'long my cheek. It burns like hell . . . feels like a deep scratch.

"Remember what I said, Captain?" Meg whispers. "I'm in your head. I'll _never_ leave. You can't do anything about it."

I feel her breath 'gainst my cheek. It burns like a blast o' steam. I don' understan' how she can be inside my head 'n' be able t' torment my body at the same time.

"I'm hungry," she whispers. "It's time for you to give me your soul."

Somethin' flickers 'long my lower lip. I can tell it ain' human.

"You . . . can't have . . . it . . . " I pant out the words, all the while willin' my muscles t' unthaw 'nough for me t' get 'way.

But t' where? I got a feelin' this's her domain. She knows every hidin' place. Prob'ly can see in the dark 'r sense my body heat.

Her tongue . . . 'n' I'm pretty sure that's what's doin' it . . . traces my upper lip, then returns t' my lower lip, tries t' entice me t' open my mouth for a kiss.

My head screams "No!" as I clamp my lips tight t'gether.

She lets out a low throaty chuckle. "I have to say, you're giving me more of a fight than I thought you would."

She rakes her fingernails down my bare chest. Same intense burnin' sensation like on my cheek.

I force myself t' breathe through my nose. There's a slitherin' slimy somethin' snakin' up both my arms. It wraps 'round my throat 'n' slowly tightens like a noose. I swallow, keepin' my mouth shut.

Jus' when I think I'm ready t' scream, I hear 'nother voice in my head.

 _I'm here, brother._

"Billy?" I don' dare say it out loud. She'll take the opportunity t' grab my soul.

 _I'm here 'n' I ain' leavin'. You 'n' me can fight her . . . she can't win._

I answer him, usin' thoughts 'stead o' spoken words. "Can she see you?"

 _No, but she prob'ly senses I'm here. That don' matter. She can't hurt me. But she can kill you. That's why I'm here: t' help you._

I shudder as she blows her poisonous breath on my neck. Yeah, that makes sense. If she don' see Billy, she won' see where he's 'bout t' attack her from.

"How're we gonna stop 'er?"

 _I'm not s'posed t' fight her for you. That's somethin' you gotta do for yourself . . . 'n' for your friend Face._

I don' get it. "But ain' you an angel? Ain' you been given power t' use 'gainst evil folks like her?"

I feel her weight as she straddles me. She uses both o' her hands t' make deep scratches from my shoulders down t' my belly. I wonder if my guts're gonna fall out if she digs much deeper. Bitin' the inside of my lower lip, I fight back the scream.

She lets out a growl like an angry cat.

 _I'm here t' encourage you._

"Baby brother, I don' need a cheerleader! I need the spirit equivalent o' Hulk Hogan so we can tag team her!"

Another set of raking scratches. These run from my right side t' my left right 'cross my belly.

I moan with my lips sealed tightly.

"Billy?"

 _I'm here._

"Maybe it'd be better t' jus' let her kill me. I'd be with you, Ma, Gramma 'n' Grampa then. Wouldn' hafta live 'lone anymore."

 _But what 'bout Face? She'd come after him next. She'd take her time with him 'cause o' her sister 'n' what he did t' her._

I smell her foul breath on my face. Her tongue . . . least I think it's her tongue . . . follows the line o' the scratches she's made, makin' 'em sting like alcohol on an open wound.

She laughs 'n' drops down t' do the same t' the scratches on my body. Her saliva's like molten lava in the trails of bleeding streaks she made in my flesh.

Oh God, it burns like the devil!

Blood seeps from the cut I've made on the inside o' my lower lip. I can taste it. But I gotta bite down 'r she'll win.

I can't let her get t' Face 'n' do worse 'n this t' him. I can't make him fight the witch all by himself. I can't die. I gotta keep my soul 'n' live.

"What do I do, Billy? How do I get her outta our lives 'n' heads?"


	39. Chapter 39 Share the Pain

The One With the Gun

When I thought that I fought this war alone

You were there by my side on the frontline

And we fought to believe the impossible

When I thought that I fought this war alone

We were one with our destinies entwined

When I thought that I fought without a cause

You gave me the reason why

From _War_ by Poets of the Fall

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

Author's note: Father Mallory is an original character of mine that came to Murdock's assistance during the Team's recuperation at Cam Ranh Bay. You can read about it in my story 'Morale' (Father Mallory appears in Chapter 70).

Chapter 39 Share the Pain

"What do I do, Billy? How do I get her outta our lives 'n' heads?" I sure hope Billy's got an answer. I sure as hell don' see how I'm gonna fight her when I can't move a muscle.

 _Ya pray, big brother. R'member the prayer Father Mallory taught ya back at Cam Ranh when you were in the stockade?_

Father Mallory. Been a while since I thought 'bout him. He helped me through some pretty bad nightmares. He was there when the demons attacked me in that cell. They were as real then as the witch 'n' her helpers are right now. But Mallory knew how t' fight 'em.

I r'member tellin' the chaplain that ev'ry Nam pilot said a "Please God" prayer when they were takin' on ground fire. I said my share o' them.

But over the years since comin' home, I ain' had t' pray so much 'cause Hannibal, Face 'n' the Big Guy were there t' back me up. They were my lifeline t' reality. 'N' when they weren' there, Doc Richter was. 'N' Nurse Donna.

Well, they ain' here. It's me 'n' the witch . . . 'n' Billy.

As if she knew I was tryin' t' r'member, Meg hisses. The sound's like static on a radio, only louder 'cause it's inside my head.

She's tryin' t' mess up my thinkin'. Mus' mean Billy's right: prayer's the key weapon t' use 'gainst the witch.

But how did Father Mallory do it?

The witch's hiss changes into a wicked screech. If I could move my arms t' hold my hands over my ears, I would. But then, b'cause she's in my head, that wouldn't work, would it?

"I'm hungry . . . I want your soul . . . " she screams. She follows that with a gleeful laugh that makes my skin crawl.

"Help me r'member, Billy. Please. B'fore it's too late."

oooooo

I see Murdock's lips clamp tighter and I know, even though he's heavily sedated, he's having a nightmare.

I'm taking a risk doing it but I reach out and do what I think his grandparents would have done to chase away the demons.

Has he always had nightmares? I know I have. Ever since the older boys in the orphanage thought I was an easy target for their mischief. I proved them wrong but the nightmares from it . . . and I didn't have a grandparent or mother to soothe them away . . .

My hand shakes a little as I stroke back his hair. I feel strange doing that but I'm his best friend and he's in pain.

Hannibal lets me do it without a word. I glance at B. A. as he comes in the door with the tarp and sleeping bags. He looks worried about Murdock every bit as much as Hannibal and I am. He doesn't question what I'm doing either.

Murdock doesn't move at all. It appears like every muscle in his body is tensed up. He must think he's being attacked.

He groans without opening his mouth.

"We'll spread the tarp over the other half of the bed, then open up one of the sleeping bags on top of it." Hannibal takes the tarp from B. A. as he speaks. He glances at Murdock, then at me. "Keep trying to get through to him, Face."

Sweat beads up on Murdock's forehead. He still doesn't move. His breathing is shallow and quick like he's having a panic attack.

"Hey buddy. I don't know where you think you are right now but you have to know I'm here beside you. I'm not leaving." I keep my eyes on him to see if there is any response to my words. Nothing.

"Sleep paralysis maybe?" I suggest to Hannibal.

"Maybe," the Colonel mutters as B. A. and he finish what they're doing.

The muscles along Murdock's jaw twitch. He groans again and I place my hand on his shoulder. If my touch helped before . . .

Sudden sharp images assault my mind. I jolt back as if shocked by an electrical spark but my hand remains frozen in place. It's almost as if Murdock is accepting my pain into his body and transferring his to me. I feel his fear clearly.

I 'see' him lying on a beach, watching a misty shape approach on the waters. I 'see' Meg appear from it and kneel by his head to stroke his cheek. Her fingernail leaves a deep bleeding gouge. I hear her whisper and every word twists my stomach in a knot.

"You thought you could get rid of me so easily? I may not have killed your friend but I'll always be with you. I'll drive you crazy enough to do it yourself."

She leans over him, close enough to kiss him. "I'm hungry." She breathes on him and I see his skin scorch and blister as if his cheek was held to an open flame. "Your friend's soul was what I wanted but yours will do just as well."

Everything in me wants to reach into that dream and drag her away from him. But all I can do is watch.

The images change and suddenly I'm the one lying down on a furry soft surface while Meg pins my leg to the floor with a knife. I can feel the white hot pain. She laughs. I come out of it just before the part of my dream where Meg's face transforms into that of an NVA soldier.

I shake my head to rid myself of the images. They don't totally go away. I know it's all just in my mind but it's so real . . .

I hear a high-pitched angry shriek. It comes from inside my head. It sounds like . . . her . . .

I stare down at Murdock and suddenly realize both of our dreams are about Meg. Both end just before we die.

Meg isn't a witch . . . I'm sure of that . . . but both of us are suffering from that afternoon at her apartment.

Time for a reality check. _I_ caused Murdock's current state of paranoia. _I_ caused him to have these nightmares. If I hadn't _insisted_ we stay there, if I had seen through her act, he wouldn't be _like_ this right now.

I try to pull my hand away. It's like it's glued in place.

And now I understand we'll continue to share the same dreams until the . . . I don't know . . . is it a curse? . . . until the curse is broken.

But how?

I close my eyes, the guilt over what I've done to my best friend washing over me, paralyzing me. I've got to do something. I have to help Murdock get free from Meg's influence.

"What's going on, kid?" I hear Hannibal like he's a long distance away.

And maybe he and B. A. are. Murdock is nearer to me right now than either of them. He's the focus of my attention. He has to be.

oooooo

I notice the change in the atmosphere around Murdock and Face and look at them, leaving B. A. to finish the job of making the bed a little better to sleep on..

"Ready ta move him, Hannibal." B. A. hasn't looked up yet from his adjustment of the sleeping bag. Now he glances at Face and frowns.

"What's goin' on with Faceman?"

He sees the same thing I do. It's like Face is reading Murdock's mind and feeling his pain. I don't know if that's a good idea or not.

I gesture for B. A. to be quiet. We'll both be here if we see either of them are adversely affected.

For now, we watch and wait.

oooooo

 _R'member Father Mall'ry said your prayer doesn' hafta be 'xactly how he said it._

I try 'n' think back t' Cam Ranh 'n' Father Mall'ry's words. I tol' him I had an almost photographic mem'ry so he could tell me how t' say it 'n' I'd r'member. He said the words didn' hafta be exact 's long as I really want God's help.

Well, this's one time I really need help. I wish Face was here so he could help me say one o' the prayers he had t' mem'rize when he was growin' up in the orphanage. But he ain'. It's me 'n' Billy . . .

"Okay, Billy. I'll try if ya put in a good word . . . "

 _That ain' necessary, big brother. 'S long as ya mean what ya ask._

Meg runs what I think's her tongue 'long the open wounds she made on my abdomen. I clamp my lips tighter 'gainst the pain.

"You taste good," she pants in my face. Her breath is like mustard gas, eatin' 'way at my skin.

"Hi God. It's been a while." It's a thought prayer. I don't dare open my mouth. I stop, not sure what I can say or if the Big Man'll answer. "I really need your help."

oooooo

I don't know what else I can do for Murdock but let his pain and nightmares combine with mine to maybe rid us of all that Meg has done to our minds. I can't move my hand from his shoulder.

My thoughts wander to the prayers the sisters said at the orphanage where I grew up. Maybe one of them applies to this?

Some of the sisters believed strongly that any willful disobedient act allowed Satan a foothold in the lives of those under their care. I did my share of willful disobedient things. The sisters prayed over me several times. Prayed and punished with what they called the 'rod of correction'. When I got old enough to memorize things, Sister Rebekkah taught me one of those prayers. I guess she figured I would need it. Not that I did.

Who am I kidding? Sister Rebekkah was very young and I was a teenager. I had serious lustful thoughts about what was under the habit she wore. Those thoughts alone should have got me saying that prayer over and over again.

Soon after she taught me that prayer, she left the orphanage to do mission work overseas. In Vietnam, I think. I never told her my feelings.

Murdock moans again and I notice he's trembling. I 'see' his blood seeping from several long gashes on his abdomen and face. I don't know how long he can withstand Meg's attacks. I 'see' her, too, but if she knows I'm aware of what she's doing, she isn't showing it.

But my eyes are closed. How am I seeing all of this?

I remember only a very small fragment of that prayer. I'm not sure it's enough to do any good.

"You are the doctor and physician of my soul." I whisper the words so Meg doesn't try to stop me. Swallowing, I continue, "You are the salvation of those who turn to you." How did the rest of it go?

Already I 'see' her twist her head over her shoulder to glare directly at me.

She flings herself off Murdock and toward me, screaming as she approaches.

At least she isn't hurting my buddy anymore.

I remember the rest of the prayer and rush through it. My voice is a rasping croak. "I beseech you to make powerless, banish, and drive out every diabolic power and presence; every evil influence, malefice or evil eye and all evil actions aimed against me."

Just before she reaches me, I realize she must be a witch after all.


	40. Chapter 40 Battlefield

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

Out on the front line tonight

Fearing defeat, bruised from the fight

Feeling too tired to run

But inside we know the race isn't done

It's time to be soldiers

'Cause the fight isn't over

So we need to come closer

And lay all our burdens down

From _Love Has Won_ by Natalie Grant

Chapter 40 Battlefield

I look at Hannibal where he sits on the end of the bed. He's focused on them an' nothin' else.

We're both watchin' Faceman mutter stuff ta himself with his eyes closed. It don't look right ta me what's goin' on but until the Colonel gives the word I can't do anythin'.

I can't make out what he's sayin' either. It sounds like a prayer. It ain't like the prayers Momma says. It's gotta be somethin' he remembers from when he was a boy. He looks desperate. Fool's his best friend so I guess he _would_ be pretty worried 'bout him.

Maybe he thinks that prayin's the only thing that can be done for Murdock.

I get up an' move ta the window. I make an excuse ta Hannibal. Not because he notices but ta let him know what I'm doin' in case somethin' happens an' I ain't there right away.

Right. Like it's gonna. I'm startin' ta think we're gonna be here a few days.

"Just gonna check an' see we ain't got company." Hannibal nods absently an' returns his attention ta Face an' Murdock.

 _Someone's_ gotta look outside once in a while ta make sure no one's gonna bother us. Right?

I draw aside the curtain an' peer out. Nothin' there but I'm gonna stay here for a few minutes. Keep my mind on somethin' else. Somethin' useful.

Maybe watchin' what they're goin' through's gettin' ta me.

All I know is somethin's gotta happen. We ain't a team with them like this.

oooooo

Neither Face nor Murdock move when B. A. goes to the window.

I know why he does it. He's restless and looking for something to do besides wait.

The pain they're experiencing bothers him. He wants to fix it but he doesn't know how. It isn't something mechanical he can tear apart and reconstruct to work flawlessly.

No, the type of repair needed is in their minds. He isn't good with that sort of thing.

Then, neither am I.

If I could give an order and make the nightmares both of my men are suffering go away, I would. If one command from me would take them back to the way they were before the last mission, before Murdock almost blew up with that bomb . . .

It doesn't work that way. I know from experience. I've had my share of nightmares from what I had to do in Korea and Vietnam. I learned to remember but not think about those haunting images. The nightmares didn't come as often when I didn't dwell on my past military experiences. But Murdock? He's had so much time alone to _think_ about every traumatic experience he's ever lived through.

I'll let B. A. do whatever he needs to do for now. If he's needed to restrain Face or Murdock, he won't be far away.

Face flinches backward, his hand still on Murdock's shoulder. His eyes are closed but he looks like he's under attack. I see Murdock's tightly clamped mouth and sweat-beaded forehead and know he must sense the same thing.

Face is fighting an enemy only he . . . and maybe Murdock . . . can see. The kid's been fighting . . . her? it? . . . ever since that Wainwright woman tried to kill them at her apartment.

Murdock's enemies go farther back than that. For all I know, he's had to fight these mind battles all his life.

Maybe I should have asked Richter to come along when I sprung Murdock from the VA.

Somehow I sense even he would find himself at a loss to do anything to bring them out of whatever this is.

I wait for a break in this silent battle they're both in, aware victory over the nightmares may not happen for Murdock. Maybe not for Face either. And then, what?

oooooo

"God, help!" That's all I can do. Send a silent SOS 'n' hope someone answers. It takes a li'l more desperate pleadin' 'n' a promise t' try 'n' be a li'l nicer t' B. A. b'fore I feel her step back from me.

All at once, I can move my arms. I'm so surprised 'n' r'lieved I wanna howl for joy. But is she really gone 'r jus' takin' a breather?

Billy's right b'side me. I sense his presence but can't see him.

"Now what, li'l brother?" It couldn't o' been that easy t' get rid o' the witch.

 _Now ya got the use o' your arms 'n' legs. Now ya gotta fight her when she comes back t' try 'n' finish ya off._

Shit! How'd I _know_ it wasn't over yet?

I squint int' the darkness t' see where she went. She's a dark shadow movin' fast t'ward someone outside o' my mind. I'm pretty sure I know who it is, too. If she reaches him b'fore he sees her comin', she'll kill him.

She can't. I won' let her.

She's gotta kill me first.

"Hey!" I yell as loud as I can at her. The shadow slows 'n' seems t' turn t'ward me. I hear a growl like an angry tigress comin' from her.

What kind o' thing can I say t' get her good 'n' mad . . . so mad she'll wanna finish me off? Not that I wanna die . . . but maybe Face'll see somethin's wrong 'n' he can get 'way while he has the chance.

"Ya wanted my soul? Well, come on 'n' try 'n' take it!" With every bit o' strength I have, I get t' my feet 'n' wait for her. I clench my hands 'n' put 'em up in front o' my face. A defensive move I ain' sure can work 'gainst someone like her.

She swirls t'ward me so quick, I take a step back 'n' strike out blind with my right fist. Like I thought, my fist don' connect with anythin' but cold air.

The dark mist swarms 'round me . . . it pokes 'n' prods t' find a weakness . . . I turn 'round, lookin' for a way outta the darkness . . .

"Billy!" I yell, suddenly realizin' I ain' got a chance 'gainst somethin' that ain' got any substance.

"Fight her, big brother!"

"How?" It's the last word I say b'fore the thick fog presses in so tight I can't breathe.

oooooo

Just when Murdock's attacker leaves him to come after me I'm not sure. One moment I'm praying the prayer Sister Rebekkah taught me and the next I feel such a bone-chilling cold that I shudder involuntarily.

I mutter the last part of the prayer again, hoping it covers both Murdock and me. "I beseech you to make powerless, banish, and drive out every diabolic power and presence; every evil influence, malefice or evil eye and all evil actions aimed against me."

"Hey!"

I wasn't expecting that to come from him. He's supposed to be unconscious, under the influence of the sedative I gave him.

However he managed to override that and yell like he did, the one word frees my hand. I jerk away in surprise, landing on my back on the floor.

Within seconds, I open my eyes and see Hannibal looking down at me. Without a word, he offers me his hand to help me up.

Murdock is back to muttering things under his breath we can't understand. He thrashes around on top of the bed as if trying to throw an attacker off him.

Now I know what he did. Just like he took a bullet in the shoulder to protect Hannibal, he got whatever this thing is that attacked me to focus on him again.

Wait a minute. Did I just say I believe there's something more than bad dreams we're fighting here?

I reach out toward him, sure that if I can touch him and pray Sister Rebekkah's prayer, he'll be free from whatever is happening in his mind.

Hannibal grabs my sleeve and pulls my arm away. "Are you sure that's a smart thing to do, kid?"

The next second Murdock gasps in a breath and then seems to struggle for air. His chest convulses as he fights for another breath.

Sometime while I was trying to help Murdock, B. A. had stationed himself by the window. He has a look of fear on his face as he sees what's going on. It looks strange on him. B. A. doesn't ever show fear. Never.

I pull away from Hannibal's grasp and fall to my knees beside the bed. Closing my eyes again and clasping my hands together, I repeat what I said before, this time not caring if Hannibal or B. A. _do_ hear me.

"I beseech you to make powerless, banish, and drive out every diabolic power and presence; every evil influence, malefice or evil eye and all evil actions aimed against . . . " _That_ was my mistake! _That's_ why she didn't pack up and go away! _That's_ why she attacked him again. " . . . Murdock and me."

I don't hear any improvement. Murdock is wheezing for breath. He's still struggling but his efforts are growing weaker by the second.

"I beseech you to make powerless, banish, and drive out every diabolic power and presence; every evil influence, malefice or evil eye and all evil actions aimed against my best friend Murdock and me." I say it over and over, gripping my hands together until my knuckles turn white.

oooooo

There's nothin' I can do for the crazy fool. Nothin' at all. I can't fight somethin' I can't see.

An' what Faceman's sayin' . . .

I clench my fists but I can't do anythin'. Nothin'.

oooooo

I'm not a religious man and I know Face hasn't been a practicing Catholic for a very long time. Still, something about the prayer he's reciting makes me believe it might actually work.

Murdock's wheezes make me search my mind for a Plan B in case Face fails to get him breathing normally again.

But I can't see any way B. A. or I can help. There is no Plan B.

Murdock draws in a hard raspy breath. I wait for the harsh exhale but it doesn't come.

All I can hear now are my own breaths and Face's desperate recitation.

This can't be happening. I glance at B. A. and see he's as stunned as I am. A second later, B. A. lets out an anguished growl and slams his fist through the closed bathroom door.


	41. Chapter 41 Breathe

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

Please tell me you'll fight this fight

I can't see without your light

I need you to breathe into my life

Don't tell me this is goodbye

I won't grieve - it's not yet time

Each breath breathed is keeping hope alive

From _Breathe_ by Superchick

Chapter 41 Breathe

I can't breathe. This thick fog . . . it's Meg Wainwright . . . I don' know how she made herself int' that but . . . it's . . . . she's . . . squeezin' the life outta me . . .

Face's not the one she's after now. Don' know where he is. I think he's somewhere close. I can barely make out his voice . . . it's all muffled. Sounds scared.

Well, I am, too. I can't get 'nough air in my lungs. I'm a'ready sleepin' . . . I think I am . . . everythin's so confusin' . . . but I'm gonna pass out if I can't get air . . . no . . . I'm gonna die . . .

The only thin' I can hear's Meg's screech over the constant mutter o' Face's voice. Even now his voice's fadin' 'n' she's gettin' louder, echoin' in my brain.

'N' I'm cold . . . it's like ice's coated the bare skin under my clothes from head t' toe . . .

Every time I think I've got an arm 'r leg free to fight her with, the pressure on my chest gets tighter . . .

I sense Face's got closer t' me. I hear words here 'n' there o' what he's sayin' . . . a prayer? Sounds like it . . .

Can't focus on that . . . gotta . . . breathe . . . one more . . . 'nother . . . 'nother . . .

There's a smell o' rottin' meat 'n' damp dirt 'round me . . . makes it even harder t' breathe.

"Die," she screams.

Die?

I've been down _that_ road b'fore. A mem'ry flashes int' my brain . . . Pa beatin' me up for my paycheck . . . me pretendin' t' be unconscious jus' so he'd take the money 'n' go 'way. Worked a few times 'til he caught on. Then I had t' learn how t' fight back.

That's what I gotta do . . . play dead . . . soon as she turns 'way, I'll jump her 'n' if she ain' just air it'll work . . . she won' see it comin' . . .

I force one more rattlin' breath in 'n' she squeezes so hard I think she's gonna break all o' my ribs . . . can't . . . breathe . . .

She laughs . . . throaty . . . evil . . .

There's a faint low growl . . . sounds like B. A. . . . 'n' a loud thump . . . splinterin' wood? Can't look t' see what . . .

How long can I hold my breath?

oooooo

It isn't working. I pray the same thing over and over but now I can't hear Murdock breathing at all.

He isn't even struggling for breath like he was a few seconds ago.

I have to keep trying to fight this . . . whatever it is. I can't let it kill him.

"I beseech you to make powerless, banish, and drive out every diabolic power and presence; every evil influence, malefice or evil eye and all evil actions aimed against my best friend Murdock and me." Before Hannibal can stop me again, I reach out and put a hand on Murdock's shoulder. Maybe that will make a difference. My hand isn't frozen in place like it was before. That doesn't mean he's . . . dead, does it? . . . no! I can't . . . I _won't_ accept that!

We . . . my buddy and I . . . we need a miracle.

oooooo

I can't let Face keep on doing this if there's nothing more to be done. As I get to my feet, I feel the full grief of knowing Murdock's dead. It weighs me down and makes me move as if my boots were filled with lead.

I walk around the end of the bed and kneel beside Face. I wait for him to look at me, to acknowledge my presence but he doesn't. If anything, his speech becomes even more fervent.

"It's over, Face." My own words don't sound to my ears like they could have come from my own mouth.

He doesn't respond. For what seems the hundredth time he begins that prayer again. This time I can hear the words clearly.

"I beseech you to make powerless, banish, and drive out every diabolic power and presence; every evil influence, malefice or evil eye and all evil actions aimed against my best friend Murdock and me."

He must be convinced there's some truth in what Murdock thinks . . . thought . . . about Meg Wainwright being a witch.

Enough. We have to figure out what to do from here. I place my hand on his forearm to draw his attention.

He shakes his head viciously, his eyes still closed. He doesn't bother to say anything to me . . . just keeps on repeating the same thing over and over.

I pat his arm and withdraw my hand, clasping both of my hands together in front of me. I'll be here when he comes to the realization he can do nothing to bring Murdock back.

I see him grip Murdock's shoulder harder. The words have changed. The tone of his pleas has become more desperate and angry. He shakes Murdock a little but there's no response. Murdock's head lolls to the side and there's still no sign of breathing.

"If You're still the God the sisters told me about . . . if You can do everything like they said You can . . . then help us!" He takes in a deep breath and opens his eyes. He stares at Murdock and I know he's trying to find any sign of life. Groaning, he grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut again. "Breathe, buddy! Breathe, damn you!"

I sense B. A. coming up behind me.

I have to stop all of this before he starts reciting those words again. If he isn't panicking already, he's close to it. I need all of us to keep our minds clear and figure out what to do from here.

"Come on, kid." I force my voice past a constriction in my throat. "We have to talk. We have to make some plans."

He turns to me without releasing Murdock's shoulder. His eyes burn into mine. "Plans? Was _this_ part of your plans?"

I don't move. I continue to stare at him and then nod for B. A. to help me get Face to release Murdock and stand up.

oooooo

She laughs one more time 'n' then I feel all the pressure on my chest go 'way. I can breathe 'gain but I don' b'cause I don' know if she's still watchin'.

I feel the hand that's been holdin' ont' my shoulder so tight bein' pulled 'way. There's angry words bein' said over me.

Takin' a peek, I see Meg's misty form beginnin' t' move 'way from me.

She thinks I'm dead.

I don' hear Face prayin' anymore. In my mind, I lunge at Meg 'n' grip her 'round her bottom half. I fall with her under me t' the ground. I guess I'm kind o' surprised she's got somethin' solid t' tackle.

She struggles, tries t' twist underneath me t' claw at my eyes. I close 'em jus' t' protect 'em.

"Oh, no, ya don'!" I mutter int' her ear. I don' know how long I can figure on holdin' her but s' long as I got her where she ain' gonna hurt Face, I'll make the best o' my time.

"Whatever my buddy Face was prayin', God, I jus' ask ya would do this one thing for us. Send this witch t' the place she b'longs 'n' keep her there so she doesn' come after us anymore." I say it loud as I can in case the Big Guy upstairs ain' listenin' t' me.

I don' hear anythin' from her 'n' wonder for a second if she's somehow escaped. But there's _somethin'_ strugglin' t' get loose underneath me.

I take in a couple o' breaths . . . feels so good t' be able t' breathe 'gain . . . then I open my eyes t' see what she's doin'.

"Do you mind getting off me, buddy?" Face squirms 'n' swivels his head jus' 'nough t' look at me.

I'm so surprised t' see him 'stead o' Meg that I can't find any words for a minute.

Then they come out in a rush. "Wait a minute! Where'd she go? 'N' how'd you get here inside my head?"

He doesn't answer 'n' I realize I mus' be 'wake, 'specially since I feel two sets o' hands on either side o' me take me by my arms 'n' lift me off him. They sit me down on the bed. I stare down at my buddy on the floor where he fell when I tackled him.

Then B. A. steps back 'n' takes a good look at me. Shakin' his head, he mutters, "Fool! Ain' nobody wants t' go inside your head t' mess with you." He walks 'way t' stare out the window but not b'fore I catch a look o' relief in his eyes.

"Welcome back, Captain," Hannibal says b'side me. "How do you feel?" From the way he's lookin' at me I can tell he's wonderin' where I am in my head.

Face gets t' his feet 'n' brushes himself off. He's lookin' at me, too. His look's diff'rent from Hannibal's 'n' B. A.'s. Somehow, I think he knows where I was, what I was doin' 'n' how I feel now. I think he feels it, too.

It's freedom. For both o' us.


	42. Chapter 42 Back to Normal?

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

Down around the No Hotel, water there don't flow so well.

Problems come and problems go, freezing shower say hello.

If you choose the No Hotel, the bellhop never rings the bell,

Why there's another ne'er do well, just checked in the No Hotel.

From _The No Hotel_ by Gordon Lightfoot

Chapter 42 Back to Normal?

As we sit around the room, each of us with a slice of pizza and a bottle of beer, B. A. with a half gallon carton of milk, I try to forget what happened a couple of hours ago. It didn't make sense the way it happened.

Hell, I've been trying to forget the weeks leading up to that time as well. None of that made sense either.

At least I feel like myself again. As soon as Hannibal was certain we were both behaving like we normally do . . . which for my buddy is anywhere from amusing himself with a sinister gloved hand to enthusing over the latest innovation in aviation . . . he sent us to the showers. Under protest, of course.

The dump didn't even have enough hot water to raise the temperature past lukewarm. The guest soaps were already used and the washcloths and towels were threadbare and dingy gray. I kept thinking as I hurried through that shower that Hannibal sure was taking a lot of delight in my discomfort. I saw it in the way he smirked at me as he pointed to the bathroom and handed me my shaving kit.

Then we left that hellhole to find better accommodations. I said I wasn't going to spend another minute in that rat-infested, bedbug-ridden excuse for a motel. In fact, I insisted. I guess Hannibal thought my protests were a sign I was back in my right mind. The way I was able to sweet-talk the brunette desk clerk at the next hotel into renting me two adjoining rooms with two beds in each should have showed me I was back to normal. Wasn't her personal phone number hidden safe in my jacket pocket proof I was?

But being clean, shaved and dressed in one of my Armani suits and my Italian loafers isn't what made the difference. I know it sounds strange but for a week or so it's been like I was hiding out in the deep jungle from an enemy I couldn't ever get a good look at. Someone who slipped in, left a reminder they could do that without being detected and then slipped back out again. I let myself go. I could have easily passed for a Skid Row bum. Or a POW.

Involuntarily, I shudder at that last thought and hope none of the others noticed.

I glance at Murdock and find him solemnly analyzing my expression. I may feel like myself again but he still doesn't seem like he does.

He isn't as quick with the whimsical nonsense that would drive B. A. to the point of verbal threats of bodily harm. He's been quiet but not creepy quiet like he was before the experience we just shared.

This has all affected him even more than it has affected me. Maybe for him the effects will linger for a few more days.

When I look at him, he flashes me a weary smile. I'm sure it's meant to mask what he really feels.

"Sure am glad ya ain' lost your charm, Faceman. If we'd had t' stay in that motel room Hann'bal booked us in . . . " He shrugs when the Colonel clears his throat in protest. "This hotel's a big improvement. That's all."

"Ya got that right, fool," B. A. grumbles, taking a swig of milk and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Hannibal gets a mischievous glint in his eye and tips back his bottle. Swallowing, he smirks at us. "Now, I don't think it was all that bad. Paint the walls a little, put up some new curtains, steam-vacuum the carpet . . . "

" . . . 'n' get new management t' totally gut the place 'n' start all over rebuildin' it . . . " my buddy adds, yawning. He has barely eaten any of the pizza Hannibal ordered for us even though I know he must be hungry. "Sorry, Colonel. A bunch o' missiles hittin' it point blank couldn' make it fit for human bein's t' stay there."

"But it _did_ serve its purpose," Hannibal insists. "It straightened things out between you."

Murdock glances at me and shrugs again. He isn't going to argue with the Colonel. He and I know we still have to hash things out before things are right again.

Standing up, he polishes off the rest of the beer in his bottle and stretches, his arms above his head. I swear I can count his ribs through his t-shirt. He's lost too much weight over the last few weeks. "It's been one helluva day so if ya don' mind, I think I'll take a shower 'n' head t' bed."

"Another shower, Captain?" Hannibal gives him a puzzled look.

"This time with _hot_ water 'n' some soap fresh outta the wrapper." Murdock nods at each of us in turn and slips into the adjoining room without another word.

"Think he'll be alright, Colonel?" B. A. asks a few seconds after the door between the rooms closes. He frowns in the direction of the adjoining room.

We all hear when Murdock turns on the water in the bathroom. I think all of us are relieved when we hear that. At least, I know I am. It means he might be starting to think clearly again.

"We'll know the answer to that if he gets through the night without a nightmare." Hannibal turns his gaze on me. "You know, we can change sleeping arrangements if you want. I can sleep in that other bed in that room and you can share this room with B. A. if it'll guarantee you get a good night's sleep. You need it as much as he does."

I shake my head. "No. If he does have a nightmare, I want to be right there to talk him out of it. I owe him that. I'm just glad I was able to get two rooms with four beds." The bottle in my hand is almost empty. I finish it and get another one from the ice chest. I intend on sleeping very well tonight.

Hannibal raises his eyebrows in a silent question.

"I'm just letting Murdock get settled in before I go to bed." I'm lying and Hannibal knows it. I focus my attention on twisting the cap off the bottle, aware both the Colonel and B. A. are watching me.

He knows I'm still avoiding the conversation Murdock and I need to have about Meg.

We save a few pieces of pizza for my buddy and finish off the rest. Hannibal and I have one more bottle of beer apiece. By the time I'm yawning and ready to go to bed, the shower is no longer running in our room. I figure Murdock might even be asleep by now.

"If he wakes up and you need help . . . " the Colonel offers as I weave for the door between our rooms.

"I'm sure he won't wake up. He looked bushed." I give Hannibal and B. A. one of my trademark everything's-going-to-be-fine smiles and say goodnight.

oooooo

I a'most didn' want the shower t' end. The hot water felt too good, too relaxin'. Guess I didn' know how tightly wound my muscles were.

I reach for the nearest bath towel. It's gotta be at least a half inch thick 'n' so white ya a'most gotta reach for sunglasses t' look at it.

As soon as I towel off 'n' finish gettin' ready for bed, I go through my duffle bag. I find the Woody Woodpecker nightlight in a side pocket 'n' plug it in where I can see it if I wake up. I'm pretty sure I won' but it's good t' be prepared jus' in case. I turn on the color TV 'n' flip through channels 'til I fin' some ol' Looney Tunes cartoons. I turn the volume all the way down. All I need's the light from the TV t' light up the room a li'l.

I want t' wait up for Faceman but I don' wanna be too obvious 'bout it. I should be in bed when he gets in the room.

I wanna check t' see what he knows 'bout what happened while I was knocked out. It's hard t' read what Face's feelin'. He's good at puttin' on a mask t' hide things.

I climb in t' bed 'n' plump the pillow b'fore layin' down 'n' pullin' the covers up. B'fore I know it, my eyelids're droopin'. I force myself awake a couple o' times but it's no use. I don' wake up 'gain 'til I hear the other bed creak a li'l under Face's weight.

oooooo

As I enter the room, I note that the TV is on. The flickering images on the screen make small shadows dance on the walls. The red glow of the Woody Woodpecker nightlight tells me that Murdock isn't really sure he won't have another nightmare.

I decide to save my shower for the morning and get ready for bed. No sense in making a lot of noise. Murdock is asleep. His breaths are slow and even. I don't want to wake him up and have him ask me about what happened at that other motel.

I scrutinize him to make sure he isn't faking it. His left arm is tucked under the pillow and his right arm sprawls out beside him. The heavy smudges under his eyes show me he wasn't lying when he excused himself to go to bed.

It's not easy for me to get to sleep when the TV is on but if Murdock needs it if he should wake up during the night, I won't turn it off.

Slipping between the sheets, I thank God for a comfortable vermin-free bed.

I turn over to escape some of the flicker from the TV set and close my eyes. Sleep is going to feel so good.

oooooo

I argue with myself 'bout whether 'r not t' try t' talk t' Face t'night. He took a while comin' in t' go t' bed. I got a feelin' he was hopin' I'd be 'sleep 'n' not wake up. 'N' how'm I gonna frame my questions? Am I gonna say somethin' like "Hey, Faceman. Did ya happen t' see a witch that looked like Meg driftin' 'round the bed back there at that other motel?" Awkward.

Well, I can' go back t' sleep without knowin' whether he sensed the same things I did. I take in a breath b'fore sayin' anythin'. This's gonna be hard.

"Hey, Face. Are ya 'sleep?"


	43. Chapter 43 Gone For Good

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

When the world becomes indifferent

The words become unclear

If you listen past the anger

If you listen past the fear

Everyone's elusive

But the truth is always near

If you listen you will hear

From _Listen_ by Bob Seger

Chapter 43 Gone For Good

"Hey, Face. Are ya 'sleep?"

Should I pretend I _am_ asleep and avoid having this conversation? Both of us definitely need the rest.

Maybe he'll give up and . . .

"Come _on_ , Face. We gotta talk."

I roll over so all he sees is the back of my head and groan softly as if I'm dozing off. Maybe he'll get the idea . . .

"I woke up when you went t' bed so I _know_ you ain' been there long 'nough t' start sleepin'."

Damn! I've got to answer him. But I don't want to. I groan again, this time with an angry edge to it. "I'm drunk enough to sleep really good . . . if you'd _shut up and let me_."

I didn't mean to sound so harsh. He doesn't say anything for several seconds.

The silence is as bad as having him pester me. I wanted to be left alone so I could sleep, didn't I? I should be satisfied. But there's a nagging little voice in my head . . . okay, not the kind my buddy hears so you understand . . . and it tells me that if I don't do this now, it won't come up again. And _that_ will damage our friendship beyond repair.

Finally he says something but he says it in such a quiet, discouraged way I almost wish I could take back my words.

"Never min'. It ain' important anyway."

I want to say something like "I'm sure it's very important to you but ask me in the morning, okay?"

That isn't what I say. I know my buddy too well. He won't sleep the rest of the night because whatever this is . . . and I have a damn good idea what it is . . . will gnaw at him. Then, a little before the sun comes up, he'll wake me up, eager to talk about it.

I heave a deep frustrated sigh and roll over onto my back. "If it'll help you sleep better, I'll listen. I'm not in the mood to do much talking. Good enough?" Thinking for a moment I add, "But I'm warning you. I'm likely to fall asleep listening if you get too long-winded. Understand?"

He hesitates and out of the corner of my eye I can see him frowning at me. He's pushed back the covers and is sitting on the bed, his feet touching the floor, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress.

"I guess . . . if that's what you wanna do . . . but it's kinda hard for me t' . . . "

He stops and I turn my gaze on him.

I notice how uncomfortable he is with what he wants to say. He stares down at the carpet and swallows a couple of times.

"Come on, Murdock! You said you wanted to talk. Either tell me what's on your mind or let me sleep. Okay?"

He closes his eyes as if doing that will help him focus. Or maybe he doesn't want to see my reaction to what he says. Maybe both.

"I . . . I'm sorry I tackled you t' the floor back at the other motel . . . I . . . I thought you were the . . . " He pauses for a moment, perhaps to search for a word? ". . . I thought . . . I thought you were someone else . . . "

He opens his eyes and stares intently at me.

"Who? Who . . . did you think it was?" I can barely get the words out because I already know the answer.

He shakes his head and grips the mattress edge tighter. "It was from my nightmare." He takes in a short breath and hurries on. "I mean, do ya ever have a dream that's hung on 'n' hung on for days . . . same one each time . . . 'n' it gets so bad ya think the demons from that dream are gonna come out t' try 'n' kill ya . . . "

I shudder when he says the word 'demons.' Yes, I've had too many of those kind of dreams lately.

He sees that I know what he's talking about and abruptly stops. For a couple of seconds, he tries to control his panic. Even talking about his nightmares seems to make him overly anxious.

He squeezes his eyes shut and bows his head like he's fighting voices in his head. I've seen him do that before but not for a long time. It usually works. This time I'm not sure it will. For several seconds he struggles with his thoughts.

Finally he says something so low I have to strain to hear it. "It don' matter anymore anyway. I think it's gone for good now."

His gaze meets mine. He has a hint of desperation in his eyes. "It is. Right?"

If he means Meg's power over our waking and sleeping, over us, yeah, I think it is. Something happened while Murdock was unconscious and whether it was something in his mind or the prayer I said that defeated that power, I don't know.

He sees the realization of that in my eyes.

"Yes, I think it's gone for good," I repeat. What else can I say?

He nods slowly as if meditating on my answer. "Okay." I watch as he brings his legs back up onto the mattress. He lies down and pulls the covers up over himself.

"That's all?" I ask. I was certain he wanted to compare our nightmares and make me admit that Meg could have been more than a vengeful sister.

A brief smile appears on his face before being replaced with a huge yawn. "Yup. I guess that's 'bout all I wanted t' know. Thanks, muchacho."

I turn off the light on the nightstand between the beds and stare over at my buddy. His eyes are closed now and all of the tension has disappeared from his face.

I let myself relax completely now that I know he's going to sleep.

"Face?"

Somehow I knew our talk wasn't over. This time I don't mind. "What?"

"Promise me the nex' time ya wanna date one o' my nurses 'r doctors you'll check out their stories b'fore ya get in too deep."

"Next time?" I bristle a little at his comment.

I hear him chuckle softly. "Jus' promise t' be careful. 'Kay?"

"Sure, Murdock." Both of us know how difficult it'll be for me to keep _that_ promise. Before I can put much more thought into it, I feel myself drifting off to sleep.

oooooo

The room's jus' startin' t' turn grayish with morning light when I wake up. My buddy's still sleepin'. The way he's sprawled under the covers, one o' the pillows tucked loosely under his arm, I gotta wonder if he was havin' a nice dream. Maybe one havin' t' do with a cute li'l gal. Not Meg for a change.

I try t' be as quiet as I can as I slip outta bed 'n' int' a pair o' sweats, a t-shirt 'n' my socks 'n' shoes. If I can get outta the room without wakin' Face 'r the guys nex' door, I intend t' go for a run. It'll help clear my mind.

I wanted t' ask Face las' night 'bout the nightmares that he'd had 'bout the witch, t' see if they matched 'nough t' call it some kind o' curse 'r spell she put on us.

Turned out I didn' hafta. I could see his expression 'n' that tremor that went through him when I talked 'bout my own mos' recent nightmares. Even if he'd never admit it, we shared similar bad dreams 'n' Meg was the cause of 'em. That's good 'nough for me.

When I get out int' the chill air o' mornin', I glance 'round me t' make sure none o' the guys saw me leave. My pace is easy at first. It feels good t' be out in the fresh air 'n' not 'fraid o' anythin' waitin' t' attack me.

My mind strays t' that nurse that helped me so much. Donna . . . I wonder if now that the witch's spell's been broken, I can figure out a way t' get t' know her better.

As I'm thinkin' 'bout her, I stray into the business area o' the city we're in. I pass a car wash 'n' a mom 'n' pop grocery store without payin' much attention.

This time o' mornin' there's not a lot o' people movin' 'round so it's not hard t' spot the guy in the green uniform at the gas pump the nex' block 'head o' me. I squint t' see better.

It looks a lot like Crane. 'N' if that really _is_ him, Decker can't be far 'way.

B'fore he sees me, I casually jog 'cross the street 'n' into a quiet residential neighborhood like I b'long there. My heart's beatin' loud in my ears 'n' all thoughts o' Nurse Donna vanish.

Once out o' his sight I turn my easy jog int' a sprint. I gotta get back t' the motel 'n' warn the guys. We gotta get outta here.

oooooo

The room is deathly quiet when I wake up. The TV is still running but the shadows it made on the walls are gone. I crack my eyes open just a bit and glance over at the other bed. It's empty.

That realization wakes me up fast. Throwing the covers back, I scramble out of bed and check the bathroom. Even though the door's open, I figure he might be in there. At least, I hope he is. But he isn't.

Last night, Murdock sounded like he accepted what I had to say about his and my nightmares. I didn't hear him wake up during the night. So where did he go?

I cross to the door between our rooms and knock, quietly at first, then louder.

Hannibal opens it. I'm about to apologize for waking him up but he's already looking past me at my buddy's empty bed.

Turning away, he snaps, "I'll wake up B. A."

None of us spend a long time getting ready. I knock on the door as soon as I'm dressed.

Scowling, B. A. lets me in.

"So what happened last night after you left us?" the Colonel demands.

"Nothing. Everything seemed fine after we talked, Hannibal." Both of them are looking at me like I caused Murdock to disappear.

"Really, guys. He was fine." I don't know how many ways I can say that to convince them I didn't do or say anything to make Murdock want to take off.

There's a frantic knocking on the hallway door. The Colonel and B. A. both grab their guns from under their pillows before answering.

Positioning himself beside the door and gesturing for B. A. to get on the other side, Hannibal nods at me.

"Coming, coming," I say, waiting for a second with my hand on the door knob.

"Let me in, guys!" It's Murdock. He sounds anxious and out of breath.

The relieved look on Hannibal and B. A.'s faces pretty much says what I feel about now. They relax and pocket their weapons as I open the door.

My buddy stumbles into the room. He gulps in several breaths before focusing his attention on the Colonel.

"We gotta move, Hann'bal. Thought I saw Crane gassing up at a station a few blocks from here."

"You're sure?" Hannibal is already on the move, stuffing what few things he had with him in his bag. B. A.'s doing the same.

"He was wearin' Army green 'n' he looked like Crane. Didn' see Decker but where Crane is . . . "

Murdock heads for the door between our rooms.

I'm right behind him.

Within five minutes we meet down in the parking lot.

"Where was the gas station you saw him at, Captain?" Hannibal opens the van's passenger door and climbs in.

Murdock points to his right down the street and takes his seat in my Corvette. I notice this time he opens the door to get in. I'd thank him but we're in a hurry.

"Where to, Colonel?" I shout as B. A. gets in the driver's seat of the van and turns the key in the ignition.

Hannibal yells back. "The opposite direction of that gas station. If we have a close encounter of the Decker kind, we divide up the first chance we get. He can't chase both vehicles at the same time."

"Where do we meet up if we do separate?"

Hannibal always has us rendezvous somewhere just to make sure no one has been captured. I start the Corvette, ready to leave quickly as soon as I know where.

"Captain, is that cabin on Crystal Lake still available? It might be a good place to hide out for a while."

Murdock shoots the Colonel a grim smile and nods. "Far as I know, Doc ain' got no group up there this week."

"Then we'll meet up at Crystal Lake. Let's head out." Without another word, B. A. speeds out of the motel parking lot. Seconds later, I follow in the Corvette.

If luck is with us and there isn't any more trouble we won't be spotted by Decker and Crane. But the way the last few weeks have been, I wouldn't want to bet on it.


	44. Chapter 44 Pursued

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

How can I pretend the signs don't say dead end

So many hearts just wind up in a junkyard

Where memories are nothing but spare parts

Turn around just turn around

And leave the past behind us now

Come on we ain't gonna crash

This time we ain't slowing down we'll pull ahead of the pack

Slip thru the cracks 'cause we are

Fast cars

From Fast Cars by Bon Jovi

Chapter 44 Pursued

I follow B. A. but not too closely just in case we meet up with Decker and Crane or any of the MPs under Decker's authority. We're at least a block apart.

I turn from East Foothill Boulevard right onto 39 heading north out of Azusa. Neither Murdock nor I say anything. We're both on the alert.

Everything's fine until we pass the San Gabriel Valley River Trail parking lot on our left. Then Murdock sits up straighter in the passenger's seat and peers into the side mirror.

"Sorry t' be the message bearer, muchacho, but we got some bad news comin' up fast. 'N' they look real interested in pullin' us over 'n' talkin' t' us."

"Decker?" I think I know the answer already by the way my buddy is fishing around in the glove compartment and under the seat. I press the accelerator just a little to narrow my distance from the van to a half block.

"Bingo." Murdock gives up his search and stares at me with alarm. "You don' happen t' know where you hid your gun, do ya? I thought b'fore we get too high up in the mountains that car b'hind could accident'ly get a couple o' flat tires. Don' wanna put 'em over a cliff . . . jus' put 'em off our tail."

I grit my teeth, remembering Hannibal was the last one to drive the Corvette. "Hannibal probably thought either you or I would pull it on him the state of mind we were in the last few weeks."

"Gee, thanks, Colonel," Murdock groans, giving the side mirror a glance before looking over his shoulder. "They're closin' the gap. Better think o' somethin'."

No use in both vehicles getting stopped. I flash my headlights on and off several times, hoping B. A. or Hannibal notice. Maybe they can get away before it's too late, before Decker figures out that the vehicle ahead of us is them.

B. A. speeds up.

"Do ya think they got your signal?" Murdock asks, an anxious edge to his voice. He's stopped looking for any weapon he can use and is sitting straight in his seat, one minute glancing at the quickly disappearing van ahead and the next over his shoulder at our pursuer.

"Yeah, I think they figured it out." We're getting farther into the Angeles National Forest area and climbing steadily. Before long, it'll be nearly impossible to find a road leading away from this one. At least not one that won't bottom out my Corvette on the rocks.

I watch as the van, now about two blocks away from us, takes a hard right. We pass the road sign and Murdock reads out loud. "Old San Gabriel Canyon Road. I sure hope they know what they're doin'. I think that road dead ends."

I continue on the route we're on. His words sour my stomach. If Decker saw them turn and knows the area . . . "Keep looking. Is Decker following them or us?"

Within a minute we pass another road leading off to our right. The sign says Rainbow Canyon Ranch. The other sign says 'Speed Limit 40.' No time to glance down at the speedometer. I know we're pushing 50.

"Well? Did they turn off or are they following us?"

Murdock doesn't say anything for a few seconds, just stares intently into the mirror, then, "Us."

"And there's only one vehicle in pursuit?" If there's more than one, they'll split up and follow both the van and us.

He lets out a short huff of breath and grimaces. "Jus' one 'n' we're the target."

Gulping as I negotiate a sharp turn at about fifty miles per hour, he squeaks, "I think this road dead ends, too. Li'l b'yond the Crystal Lake turn-off. Real bad rock slides. Road washed out, too."

"Isn't there a side road we can take before we get to the dead end?" That bit of information wasn't what I wanted to hear.

He groans and shakes his head as if to clear it. "I don' know, Faceman, I mean, when Doc drove the group up here I was thinkin' 'bout fishin' . . . I wasn' lookin' for an escape route."

I grip the steering wheel tightly and coax the speedometer up a notch. "Then we'll have to find a spot before we reach Crystal Lake to make a U-turn."

"A U-turn? We'll be headin' back t'ward 'em." I know Murdock isn't sure I know what I'm doing but at the same time, there's a hint of Hannibal's jazz in his tone.

"Wanna play some chicken with Decker and Crane, buddy?" The idea of it doesn't appeal to me but if there's no other way out of this . . .

Out of the corner of my eye I see Murdock scrutinize the high rocky formations on either side of us. He shifts restlessly in his seat and searches the floor of the car for a gun he already knows isn't there.

He comes up empty again and lets out a frustrated sigh. Both he and I know the cliffs end somewhere ahead on his side and become steep embankments with the San Gabriel River far below. If I do turn around and aim the Corvette straight for Decker's car, one of us might go crashing through the guard rails. Either that or we'll take to the ditch on the other side and scrape up against the rocky wall. Neither prospect is good.

Murdock gives me a weak grin. "I'll bet ya ten bucks they flinch first."

I try to flash him a return smile but fail miserably. "I'm counting on it."

oooooo

B. A. makes such a tight turn that I'm propelled against the passenger's door. Recovering quickly, I look back to try to see the Corvette but we're already out of sight of the main road.

They don't have any weapons in that car. I removed them before I picked Murdock up at the VA. It was for their own safety until they regained some degree of control over whatever it was that caused their shared paranoia. It doesn't help them now, of course, and I mentally kick myself for not giving Face or Murdock a gun to defend themselves. But neither did I expect Decker would happen across us as we were leaving Azusa.

While I'm thinking that, B. A. comes to a stop in front of a restaurant that bills itself as the El Encanto. He doesn't shut off the engine.

"What now, Hannibal?" He frowns into his side mirror, checking to see if we were followed.

"Decker can't be allowed to know for sure Murdock is the passenger in Face's car. We have to help them."

B. A. puts the van back into gear and heads toward the main road. "How we gonna help 'em, Colonel?"

I feel the adrenaline of the chase and escape course through my veins and I smile. "Why, B. A. How do we usually take on Decker when he tries to outsmart us?"

B. A.'s muttered response only makes me grin wider. "You on the jazz, ain't ya."

I open the glove compartment and take out my gun. Checking it to make sure it's loaded, I give him my answer.

"Speed up, Sergeant. We've got to catch up to them." How I'm going to stop Decker in his tracks and get all of us past him to safety I haven't figured out yet. But I know a plan will come to me.

"Hang in there, Face," I mumble to myself as I watch for the army vehicle with Decker in it.

oooooo

I hunch down lower in the seat, knowin' my cover's prob'ly a'ready blown if Decker's got close 'nough t' us t' see. Face's takin' corners like a race track pro 'n' I jus' hope we don' meet a car comin' 'round one o' them.

I ain' gonna tell him t' slow down b'cause the alternative . . . Decker catchin' up, stoppin' us, findin' out I've been the fourth person with them all 'long . . . well, that ain' s'posed t' happen. Ever.

'N' that's supposin' Decker hasn' figured it out durin' this cat-'n'-mouse chase.

Least the Colonel 'n' the mudsucker are safe.

oooooo

"Floor it, Captain! That's Peck in that car!" I squint at the white Corvette ahead of us and see it speed up. "He has someone with him." Could it be Smith?

"They've seen us, Colonel." Crane grips the wheel tighter. He knows by now that when I see Smith or any of his team we're going to give chase no matter what.

"I don't care. Catch up to him."

Crane takes in a deep breath and presses down on the gas pedal. He's muttering to himself as he edges closer. I have no doubt he wishes we'd never seen that car ahead of us. Then Peck increases his speed and widens the distance between us once again.

The Corvette straddles the double yellow line as Peck whips the car around a curve.

"He's nuts, Colonel!" Crane shouts.

"So am I, Captain! Keep on his tail!" I check my pistol to make sure it's loaded. When Peck stops . . . and I know he will when he comes to the end of this road and realizes there's nowhere he can go . . . when he stops, I'll be ready to take him into custody . . . him and whoever he has with him.

Hopefully, it's Smith.

oooooo

I look t' my right 'n' swallow hard. The metal guardrails don' seem like they'll keep anythin' from crashin' through 'n' plungin' down t' where the river flows. The places where there's concrete barriers don' look any better. Face's got pretty high cliffs on his side. The scenery'd be breathtakin' any other time but right now it looks dangerous.

The Corvette strays over the center line as we go 'round a corner. I can't close my eyes b'cause Faceman needs me t' keep watch on the car b'hind us. Sure wish I could.

We pass a gated entrance on my side 'n' a few seconds later I see a huge dam on the river.

"There's gotta be a road leadin' down there," I say but Face's a'ready shakin' his head.

"Can't risk getting stuck with no way out. We have to find something more promising than that."

I open my mouth to argue but don' get the words out. B' hind us a gun goes off. The shot hits the concrete guardrail a couple o' feet from my right. Bits o' the barrier ping against the side o' the car. I slouch down even lower in the seat. I could o' got hit with some o' that.

Face curses under his breath 'n' presses the gas pedal a li'l more. I don' wanna know how fast we're goin' now.

I see a sign 'n' barely decipher the words b'fore we're past it. What I did read makes me snicker. It's my nerves. Sometimes when we're in trouble, any li'l thin' seems funny t' me.

"Hey, muchacho. That sign back there? Ya know what it said? 'Target shooting prohibited except at Burro Canyon Shooting Park.' Somebody'd better tell Decker 'bout that." I try hard t' not laugh out loud. My buddy's got 'nough on his mind right now.

Face manages t' answer me back. "Yeah. Well, I'm not going to stop and tell him."

Another shot's fired but this one don' sound like it's comin' from jus' b'hind us.

I squirm 'round t' glance back. B'yond Decker's weavin' car's a familiar black van. The Colonel's leanin' outta the passenger's window. He takes aim 'n' fires.

The right rear tire o' the car b'hind us blows, turning int' black rubber shreds. The other shot musta taken out the left tire. Crane skids t' a stop inches 'way from the sign I was readin' jus' seconds ago.

"Direct hit!" I can't help but let out a whoop o' pure relief. "Now Decker's got time t' read that sign."

"That should keep them busy for a few minutes." Face keeps the Vette movin' at the same pace as b'fore. "We have to find a place to turn around before they finish changing those tires and get back on the road."

But we ain' outta the woods yet. We gotta go back past Decker 'n' Crane 'n' when we do they're sure t' see me . . .

. . . unless . . .

oooooo

I can't resist the temptation to taunt Decker as B. A. barrels past his disabled vehicle. "Nice try, Decker! See ya back in LA!"

He points his gun at the van but we're already taking the next curve in the road. I'm satisfied I got to see his frustrated scowl before they're out of our sight.

I turn to B. A. and smile. "Now let's catch up to Face and Murdock and figure out a way out of here."


	45. Chapter 45 In Threes

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

Maybe I'm crazy, and I'm losing my senses  
Maybe I'm possessed by a spirit or such  
Maybe I'm desp'rate and I've got no defences  
Can you get me a prescription for that one perfect touch

Is this a blessing or is it a curse?  
Does it get any better? Can it get any worse?  
Will it go on forever? Is it over tonight?  
Does it come with the darkness? Does it bring out the light?

From _It Just Won't Quit_ by Meat Loaf

Chapter 45 In Threes

Now that Decker's car has been disabled and we're not being pursued . . . at least until Crane manages to replace both rear tires . . . I relax a little. We still have to find a way out of here but I don't have to put our lives at risk driving like a maniac to escape.

I wonder if Hannibal and B. A. continued on past Decker to meet up with us or if they made a U-turn and went back to Azusa to avoid any further gunfire from Decker.

"Check the mirror and see if the van's following us." I don't look at Murdock. The road has my full attention. Even at the easier pace I'm driving, the road has enough twists and turns to make it challenging.

He doesn't say anything for several seconds and then I hear him open the glove compartment again.

I let out a frustrated sigh. "You've already checked . . . "

"What's this?" he asks. His voice is quiet and carries a hint of accusation.

That prompts me to glance over at him. I can't form the words to explain what he found or why it was there.

In his hands is a silky red flowered scarf. Meg's.

"I saw it when I was diggin' 'round lookin' for your gun. Who's it b'long to?" Now his voice has a harsh anxious edge to it.

"Well, uh . . . I suppose Meg left it there accidentally sometime when we went out together." That's the only reasonable explanation. But why is Murdock so concerned about a woman's scarf?

"Then you don't care if I . . . ?" He lifts his hand and lets the scarf trail behind him in the breeze. He isn't smiling as he scrutinizes me.

I shrug. "Guess not. There's no way I'm going to return it to her. Ever."

He smiles but the smile is both sad and relieved all at the same time. "Good." I watch as he releases the scarf into the air. It floats like an oversized red butterfly toward the ditch on his side and disappears down the embankment.

"Ya don' have any more r'minders o' the witch in here, do ya?"

"She wasn't a . . . " I start to protest but with one sharp glance he silences me.

"Is there anythin' more that b'longs t' _her_ in this car 'r at your place?" He's pressing the question like it matters almost as much as life and death.

"I . . . I don't know . . . maybe at the beach house. She was there a few times."

He turns his head to peer into the side mirror. His expression is hard and cold, a look I rarely see on him.

"Then we'll hafta search there, too, soon as we get back t' L. A., maybe burn anythin' we find o' hers." His voice is low and meditative. He doesn't turn his gaze back on me as he says it.

"What's the big deal? I wasn't going to keep anything of hers as a keepsake if I _did_ find it."

He continues in that same contemplative tone. "Did ya ever wonder why it was so easy for Decker t' find us? I mean what were they doin', comin' up here? Sightseein'?"

I hadn't given it much thought. I didn't have the time.

"Blind stupid luck maybe?"

He shakes his head with an emphatic 'no.'

"You don't think that scarf had a tracking device . . . " I stop when Murdock lets out an angry sigh and covers the left side of his face with his hand, closing his eyes as he does.

"Jus' promise ya ain' gonna keep anythin' o' hers that we find, 'kay?"

"I don't understand why it's so important." And I don't. He's so serious about it that I wonder if he's letting his paranoia raise its ugly head again.

"It is. Promise me." He twists in his seat to ask me. He looks determined and I know he won't let it go without my word on it.

"Okay! Okay! I promise! Geeze!" I sense him relax as soon as I say that.

"Pull over. We hafta search the Vette." He points to a gravel overlook ahead of us.

"You're crazy. Decker's back there and we have to find a way to get out of these mountains and back to L. A. without getting shot. We don't have the time." But I slow down anyway.

"Right here! Stop!" He glares at me until I'm fully parked.

It would have been a great place to rest and look at the scenery around us. Not for Murdock. He slams open the car door and gets down on his hands and knees, checking the under carriage of the Vette. When that search proves fruitless he rechecks the car's interior.

Running his hands over the carpeted floor under his seat, he doesn't see the van pull up behind us and stop.

Hannibal and B. A. come to stand beside me on the other side of the car. I see the Colonel has a fresh cigar in his hand.

Without asking, I fish the lighter out of my jacket pocket and light the tip.

"What's the fool doin', Faceman?" B. A.'s the first to comment on Murdock's intent search.

"I removed the guns for your own safety," Hannibal informs Murdock from behind a puff of smoke.

"Ain' what I'm lookin' for," my friend mutters, reaching all the way under his seat. His expression changes to one of grim triumph as he straightens and holds up something small and round.

"What's that?" B. A growls.

From what I can see, it seems to be a common black rock. It looks smooth and polished.

"I've never seen that before in my life," I stammer as Murdock examines it.

He glances up at me, his eyes dark and menacing. "I know. She put it here when you weren' lookin'. She knew you wouldn' think anythin' 'bout it if you found it. You might o' even kept it if you did 'n' had it made int' a piece o' jewelry. God knows what would o' happened t' you then."

Hannibal drifts over to stand behind him. He holds out his hand but Murdock refuses to give the rock to him.

"Trust me, you don' wanna touch this, Colonel." He frowns over at the driver's side of the car. "If I found two things, she might o' planted more."

Murdock gets to his feet after shoving the stone into his jacket pocket. He quickly comes over to where B. A. stands. I've never seen B. A. move aside when my friend glares at him but he does now.

Under his breath, Murdock mutters, "They come in threes. They a'ways come in threes."

B. A. scowls at him. Hannibal frowns, puzzled. Both look at me for answers to our team mate's erratic behavior but I know nothing.

I shrug and watch Murdock as he opens the driver's side door and begins the same systematic search. This time after only a few seconds he comes up with a button that looks like it could have come from a piece of clothing.

"Any o' your dress shirts missin' a button lately?" he asks. His sarcastic tone suggests he doesn't expect a negative answer.

I swallow, remembering a month ago when I sent a pale blue shirt to the cleaners and had them find and sew a new button on the cuff. I hadn't been able to find it anywhere in the house.

"So what does this all mean, Captain?" Hannibal looks at me as he says it, wondering as the rest of us are, if Murdock is coming unhinged again.

My friend, apparently satisfied that he has located everything he was searching for, rises and walks over to the guardrail. Kneeling down, he digs a small hole beside one of the wooden posts and drops the button and rock in. As we watch he smooths the soil back into place and gets to his feet again.

For a few seconds, he stands with his hands in his pants pockets, his back to us, staring out over the valley below us. He seems to have forgotten we're here.

Hannibal glances at me and strolls over to where Murdock stands motionless. He places a hand on my friend's shoulder, maybe to let him know he's there.

"It's time to go, Captain. We still have to find a way back to L. A. without meeting up with Decker again."

Murdock doesn't say anything for another few seconds. Then he nods at the Colonel, making brief eye contact, slowly walks back to the car, silently gets in and shuts the door.

Hannibal looks at my friend for only a moment, then gestures at B. A. to get in the van. Getting my attention, he tells me his instructions. "We'll keep driving on this road for another fifteen minutes. If we haven't seen a good road we can take to get out of here, we'll turn around and try our chances going back the way we came. Decker can't shoot all of us." He glances at Murdock sitting quietly staring off into space, gives me a meaningful look and returns to the van.

I get in the driver's seat of the Vette, avoiding eye contact with my morose passenger. As soon as I turn the key in the ignition, B. A. starts the van's engine. I pull out, the van following.

Murdock stares at the passing scenery on his side, motionless and meditative. He's so lost in thought he doesn't seem to be seeing anything of his surroundings.

And I'm not about to ask him what his urgent search was all about. I don't think I want to know.

oooooo

Out o' the corner o' my eye I can see Faceman glance at me ever so often. He's confused 'bout why I did what I did.

I ain' gonna 'xplain it. I'm thinkin' 'bout my room back at the VA 'n' wonderin' where she could o' hidden the three cursed things meant for _me_. I _know_ they gotta be there.

It's not gonna be as hard t' search my room as it is t' search Face's latest digs. A beach house's got more places t' put things, 'specially small things like I found in the Vette.

If we don' get rid o' all o' them, one 'r both o' us'll be attacked 'gain with those nightmares.

I barely realize we've turned off the route we were on.

"I guess our luck is changing," Face says t' me. "Maybe this road will take us home."

I startle a li'l 'n' take a good look at where we are. The road's paved 'n' it looks like it's been used a lot.

That feelin' that the witch's planted stuff in places where we can't fin' it doesn' leave me but I got a good feelin' 'bout this road we're on.

Maybe the curse's been blocked for now. Least 'til we get back t' L. A.


	46. Chapter 46 Fishin' Trip

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

Up this morning

Before the sun

Fixed me some coffee and a honey bun

Jumped in my pickup

gave her the gas

I'm goin' out to catch a five pound bass

From _The Five Pound Bass_ by Robert Earl Keen

Chapter 46 Fishin' Trip

One Month Later

oooooo

"Put your back into it, Face."

I give my CO a glower B. A. would be proud of and renew my efforts.

Crystal Lake would be so much more enjoyable if Hannibal hadn't ordered _me_ to man the oars.

The thing is we could have taken the boat that had the outboard motor. The Colonel decided for all three of us.

Murdock's the only one with fishing gear.

It figures. I remember how much he talked about the fishing here on the way to this lake. Hannibal indulged him more than usual. He avoided looking at me.

It makes me suspicious, wondering what Hannibal's up to.

I row out to a small patch of lily pads. I hope Murdock manages to catch something. If he doesn't, he'll want to go out every day until he does. I have a feeling the Colonel will make me in charge of getting us where he wants to go on the lake . . . minus an outboard motor.

As soon as I get there and pick up the anchor to heave it over the side, I hear, "Not here, Lieutenant." I'm surprised at Hannibal's abruptness.

"Then where?"

I can't help but feel frustrated. He has seemed very determined to accomplish _something_ by this surprise vacation to Crystal Lake. Now that Decker no longer believes we are anywhere near the Angeles National Forest, the Hannibal must have felt it was safe to visit the cabin and take a rest from going on missions and dodging the MPs.

But since we got here, I've been doing most of the work. First, Hannibal ordered me to haul everything we needed in from the van. And now, this.

He points to the middle of the lake. "Over there."

Murdock fidgets in his seat at the bow of the boat. I'm not sure _he_ knows what this is all about either.

It takes a few minutes but I get us there. My shoulder muscles are burning and I look forward to watching Murdock try his luck. If _I'm_ lucky he won't catch anything for an hour or so. That'll give me an opportunity to rest from my rowing.

"Okay, Lieutenant. This is good enough. Drop anchor."

I lower the cement-filled coffee can by the rope attached to it. My buddy is already baiting his hook with a worm, whistling the theme song to The Andy Griffith Show. I haven't seen him this excited for a few months.

"Alright, Face. Now get ready to swim to shore. I gave B. A. some instructions for you when you get there."

Murdock freezes, his eyes flickering over Hannibal and then me. "But Colonel . . . " he starts. The Colonel shushes him by raising his hand.

"Swim?" I take in a breath to protest. Then see the cool authority in Hannibal's gaze. There's no use in trying to change his mind. I glance at my buddy and see the shocked look on his face. He doesn't know what to say.

"Yes. Swim." The Colonel takes out a fresh cigar, bites off the tip and lights it without looking at me. When he does finally meet my eyes, he raises an eyebrow. " _Now_ , Lieutenant."

I have a feeling this is the reprimand the Colonel designed for me because of the danger I put Murdock and me in by disobeying his orders.

If it is, he won't stop until I'm bone weary and no longer so willing to do my own thing.

I remove my deck shoes and socks and strip off my shirt. No wonder Hannibal told me to wear shorts and not pants. The lake water is a cold shock to my body as I lower myself over the side.

"As soon as you start swimming, you'll warm up. Now move!"

Setting my gaze on the distant shore, I push off from the side of the rowboat. I'm not afraid of not making it to shore. I _am_ dreading what Hannibal planned for me to do once I get there.

oooooo

I watch as my buddy starts swimmin'. I know Hann'bal means this t' be Face's punishment. It seems a li'l harsh in my opinion.

Suddenly this fishin' trip don' seem so fun anymore.

"Go ahead, son. Cast your line. Catch us all some dinner." He says it quietly, not in the same tone he used with Face.

Uh oh. Mus' mean he wants t' talk, fin' out what's been happenin' with me . . . maybe talk 'bout what happened back at that hotel 'n' on the road. Ain' somethin' I wanna revisit. I took care o' everythin' that needed takin' care of. Meg ain' gonna be able t' hurt me 'r Face anymore.

I do as I'm told. If Face would o' done that . . . well, he wouldn' be swimmin' for shore, I guess.

Jus' t' keep the coversation 'way from anythin' related t' the last four months, I say, "I'm gonna start with worms as bait, maybe catch some bluegills 'r catfish. Maybe later I'll Texas-rig this line 'n' see if I can' catch a gran'daddy bass. Should be one 'r two o' those in this lake."

Hann'bal nods. I don' know how much fishin' he's done but I gotta be closer t' the weed beds in this lake if I hope t' catch any largemouth bass. Parked out in the center o' the lake ain' gonna get us any dinner worth havin'.

For a couple o' minutes we sit in silence as I slowly reel my line in.

Jus' as I'm castin' for the secon' time, he speaks. "Richter tells me things are almost back to normal at the VA."

I let the baited hook plop softly int' the water 'n' keep my eyes focused on the spot where it went down. Did I 'magine it 'r did he emphasize the word 'almost?'

"Yeah, pretty much. Las' night they showed Looney Tunes cartoons in the day room." I know that ain' what he wants t' talk 'bout. "'N' they fed us meat loaf 'n' mashed p'tatoes 'n' gravy for supper. Don' know how they got the taters so runny. Mus' have a new cook. The meat loaf 'n' gravy wasn' bad, though."

"I heard there was a problem when you got back." He exhales a cloud of smoke and looks directly at me.

"Maybe," I mumble, concentratin' on how fast I'm reelin' in the bait.

After we got back t' L. A. I helped Face fin' the three things the witch hid 'way in the beach house where he's livin'. Gotta give it t' Meg . . . she knew where t' stash 'em so he'd have a hard time findin' 'em.

A red garter b'tween the mattress 'n' box spring o' the bed . . . maybe t' go 'long with that red scarf I found in the glove compartment. A photo o' herself 'n' Face torn in half and stuck in the very back o' the bedroom closet. Another o' those black stones . . . an opal, I think . . . in the bottom of a bottle o' red wine. She might o' hoped he'd swallow that 'n' choke on it.

We burned the garter 'n' photo 'n' I tossed the opal as far as I could int' the ocean. Face was free o' the witch's curse but I knew I wasn' yet.

As soon as I got back t' my room at the VA, I started my search. I looked everywhere, moved the arcade games, my bed, the dresser . . . took down ev'ry poster 'n' picture off the wall . . . dumped all the stuff outta my dresser drawers on the floor . . . hell, by the time I foun' all three things she planted, my room looked like a tornado'd gone through it.

The three-inch piece o' knotted twine . . . 'r was it hair? . . . was taped t' the bottom frame o' my bed. There was a small pentagram drawn in what looked like blood on the lower back corner o' my Range Rider poster. Somehow the witch'd gotten a copy o' a photo o' me, the guys 'n' Ray Brenner. She tore the photo in three pieces 'n' smeared blood over the images o' Face 'n' me. She stuck that b'hind the mirror 'bove my sink.

I knew all three things'd have t' be destroyed so I put 'em in my wastebasket, tossed in some wadded up sheets o' paper 'n' set all o' it on fire.

The head nurse 'n' orderlies rushed int' my room as soon as they smelled the smoke. I tried t' tell 'em I wasn' gonna let it get outta han'. They should o' known that.

But the nurse gave the order t' give me haloperidol 'n' nex' thing I woke up, I was in a straight jacket locked up in the padded room where I could be watched more closely. It wasn' 'til Doc talked t' me that I was allowed t' return t' my room. Not that he understood why I did what I did. He doubled up on my sessions for a couple o' weeks t' try 'n' figure out what was goin' on with me. Must o' figured I was on the verge o' a breakthrough.

Man, I'm gonna miss that Range Rider poster. Took a lot o' cereal boxtops t' send 'way for it.

"Maybe?" Hannibal's watchin' me as I r'member. He wants an answer.

'N' if I try 'n' tell him what I did 'n' why I did it, will he think I can't be trusted anymore t' be the team's pilot? Sayin' Meg's a witch 'n' ravin' 'bout curses pretty much sounds like the rantin' of a crazy man, don' it?

"Doc didn' tell you?" I hafta know how much Hannibal was told b'fore I say anythin' more. I jiggle my line in the water a li'l 'n' continue to slowly reel it in.

" _He_ called _me_ to ask me what happened when you were with us. He said you were under observation for a couple of days. He didn't tell me why."

I plaster a fake smirk on my face. "Temporary insanity. Don' worry. I'm all better now." From the look on his face I can tell he doesn' completely b'lieve that.

He analyzes me for a few seconds in silence. Then, nodding his head, he glances t'ward shore.

"You know, we won't ever abandon you no matter how tough things get. You are a member of this team . . . our secret weapon." He says it quietly, without looking at me. "Don't ever forget that."

I don' know what t' say t' that so I say nothin'.

"If there's anything you ever need . . . " He gives me a sharp look that tells me much more than the words do.

"Speakin' o' that . . . if ya don' mind, Colonel . . . "

"Yes?" He responds quickly. "What is it, Captain?"

I give him a grin that ain' faked this time. "If ya don' mind, I think I'd like t' try my luck closer t' those lily pads."

I can tell he's a li'l disappointed I wasn' gonna say any more 'bout the stuff that happened the last few months. Then he nods 'gain 'n' drops it.

He takes up the oars 'n' as he rows us over t' the weed bed, I start whistlin' 'gain 'n' rebait my hook.

oooooo

It's a good time ta do some work on the van with Murdock out on the water. No fool questions or teasin' ta distract me.

An' from where I have the van parked, I can see pretty quickly if Faceman gets a leg cramp an' starts drownin'.

I know Face's a good swimmer but far as I know this's the first real exercise he's got since that crazy woman shrink knifed him in the leg.

I'll make sure he stays safe but I don't feel sorry for him. He shoulda known Hannibal was gonna find a way ta teach him ta obey a direct order.

He wades ashore just as I finish topping the oil on the van. For a few seconds, he stops an' bends over, hands on his knees, takin' in some big breaths. He sees me look at him an' straightens. He don't want me ta know how much of a struggle that swim was.

I shut the van's hood as he trudges up to me.

"So what does Hannibal have for me to do now, B. A.?" He ain' very happy but that's what this's 'bout, ain' it? He's gotta learn.

I wipe my hands on an old rag an' point ta the pile of wood in front of the cabin. It's a good-sized pile. "Hannibal wants that cut inta kindling. Stack most of it an' bring enough of it in for the next couple o' nights."

He eyes the pile an' groans. "Are you going to at least help me carry some of it?"

I'm not about ta get inta trouble with the Colonel. I look out at the boat where Hannibal an' the fool are. From that distance, he can see everythin'.

"Ya know I can't, Faceman. Ya gotta ride out what Hannibal's planned for ya." I cross my arms but I don't feel like enforcin' this. That woodpile'll take him most o' the afternoon. An' then I'm s'posed ta tell him ta swim back out ta the boat ta row them back ta shore. Kinda hope that's all Hannibal has in mind for him.

I watch Face think about it for only a li'l bit. Then he stalks over, picks up the axe an' sets up the first piece of wood on the choppin' block.

"Better get started then," he mumbles as he takes the first swing.


	47. Chapter 47 Finis

The One With the Gun

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

AN: This chapter concludes this story, one that came out of nowhere as I was struggling with writer's block over two other stories. I have no song lyrics for this one. I have several story ideas playing around in my head but I promise to return now to 'Keeper of the Truth' and 'Author, Author.'

Chapter 47 Finis

Looking around the table at each of my men, I know they're all wondering.

B. A. is quieter than usual and hasn't filled his plate with as much enthusiasm as he normally does. Right now, he's picking at his portion of the pan-fried bass and avoiding everyone's eyes. The scowl he reserves for things he finds distasteful has deepened over the course of the day.

For once, the bad attitude isn't because of something Murdock has said or done to rile him.

As for Murdock, his worried gaze flickers from me to Face several times. He's quiet, too. And nervous. I watch him pick up his fork only to push his baked beans into a mound on his plate, then put his fork back down again.

If everything was back to normal, he'd be retelling the story of how he came to catch the three-pound bass he fried up for us tonight. It was quite a battle to land that fish. I'm sure his version will be entertaining and accompanied with play-by-play actions. But he hasn't talked about it at all.

Face . . . well, he's so tired from chopping wood, swimming and rowing that his eyelids drift shut. He hasn't touched his food at all. I don't know if he's even aware it's there. As soon as his head nods forward, he startles awake again and glances at me guiltily.

Each of them are wondering if I'm done with the reprimand.

And me? I don't have much of an appetite either. I get no satisfaction in disciplining my men when they've screwed up even though they might think I do. I'm ready for this to be over.

One of us has to end this.

oooooo

I just dozed off for a second. Can anyone blame me? I want nothing more than to get into bed, pull the covers up . . . maybe over my head to shut out everyone and everything . . . and go to sleep.

It won't be that easy. I might have to have a couple of strong drinks before then. Every muscle in my body but especially those in my shoulders, arms and back are screaming in pain.

I don't feel like eating. I'm too tired.

When I startle awake I see Hannibal's eyes on me. Is he coming up with a new set of things for me to do to drive his message across to me? I get it . . . when he orders me to do something, I have to obey without question.

I hope my unintentional nap doesn't tell him I need more disciplinary action. I can't take another day of this.

Let it be over. Please.

oooooo

Ain't right how much the Colonel's pushin' Faceman. I ain't seen him lay down the discipline like this since the last time he sent us all on one of his specially made obstacle courses because of a mission that wasn' done ta his satisfaction.

I look over at Murdock an' see how nervous he is. He ain't eatin' much. Ain't sayin' anything at all. It ain't like him. There's a scared look in his eyes when he looks at me. He ain't sure how far the Colonel will go ta make his point.

I don't know either. If Hannibal starts it again tomorrow mornin', I ain't gonna be the one makin' Face do anythin'. Even if it means I'm disobeyin' a direct order.

The Colonel can do it himself. But I'll be there ta stop him if he goes too far. Enough is enough.

oooooo

Boy, sittin' at this table tonight's 'bout as much fun as gettin' one o' my teeth pulled without happy gas.

Hann'bal's gotta let up 'r he's gonna kill my buddy. Someone's gotta stop all o' this.

The Big Guy looks at me 'n' I can tell he ain' enjoyin' any o' this either.

Nobody seems t' be eatin' much . . . everyone's actin' like they ain' hungry when I know we all are . . . 'n' maybe that's a way o' breakin' the ice 'n' gettin' things movin'.

I stand up 'n' try t' make my actions as casual as I can.

Takin' my plate, I walk over 'n' put it on the floor nex' t' the fireplace. I can sense all o' them're watchin' me, wonderin' what I'm doin'.

I come over 'n' start t' take B. A.'s plate 'way. I glance at Face. What I'm doin's woke him up pretty good. He's starin' at me like he thinks I've completely lost my min'.

"Hey! I wasn't done! Where ya goin' wit' that, fool!" The Big Guy scrapes his chair back from the table 'n' follows me. I can feel his anger directed t'ward my back as I put his plate on the floor b'side mine.

I try hard not t' smirk. That was the reaction I was hopin' t' get.

Turnin' t'ward him, I come face t' face with his scowl. For a moment, I forget what I'm doin' 'n' flinch backward.

Takes a couple o' seconds t' recover. I raise my hands in the air 'n' put on my most innocent look.

"Well, you 'n' me weren' hungry 'n' I know someone who is . . . " I see the small hint o' understandin' in the Big Guy's eyes but he don' relax his clenched fists. He knows all this is is a distraction t' break the tension in the cabin. He'll continue the act jus' t' make things right 'mong us 'gain.

I glance b'hind him at the ol' overstuffed couch 'n' clap my hands t'gether. "Here, Billy! Come here, boy!"

I preten' t' watch somethin' come over t' me jus' as B. A. reaches 'round me 'n' picks up his plate.

"I wasn't finished with that!" he grumbles as he stalks back t' the table 'n' sits down. "An' there ain' no invisible dog!" With that, he b'gins in earnest t' eat.

Hann'bal gives me a small nod t' show he knows what I'm doin'. "It's okay, Captain. I fed Billy something an hour ago. Why don't you come back to the table with your plate?"

I pretend t' be r'lieved, scoopin' up my plate from the floor. Pattin' empty air 'bout the height o' my knee, I keep up the act.

"Good thing ya warned me, Colonel. Wouldn' want Billy t' get chubby. 'N' he wasn' gonna let me know if this was seconds 'r not. He's smart that way." I smile at Face as I take my place at the table 'gain. I notice he's picked up his fork 'n' while I watch, he takes a bite of his fish. He nods his 'ppreciation as he chews 'n'swallows.

Hannibal's started eatin' now, too. For a while we all eat in silence but it ain' the tense quiet o' b'fore.

'N' after supper, Hann'bal breaks out a bottle o' very good whiskey 'n' pours some for Face, then himself 'n' me. B. A. grabs himself a glass o' milk. We raise our glasses in a toast 'n' drink up.

I look 'round at my friends 'n' know things're startin' t' settle back t' normal.

But jus't' make sure . . .

"Hey, Face. Ya wanna hear 'bout how I landed that bass?"

B. A. grumbles somethin' 'n' goes back t' get seconds . . . or thirds . . . from the leftovers on the table. Face settles on the couch, the glass o' whisky in his hand, his attention on me. He'll likely drift off soon. 'N' Hann'bal?

He lights a fresh cigar 'n' relaxes on the other end o' the couch, chucklin' once in a while as I tell my story.

'N' I was right. Faceman finishes his drink 'n' dozes off as I get t' the good part o' the story. Rather than move him, Hann'bal makes sure he's comfortable 'n' covers him with a blanket. I finish my story t' the sound o' Face's soft snores.

B'fore Hann'bal heads t' bed, he pats me on the shoulder. "Tomorrow morning when you go out fishing, Face and you can use the boat with the outboard motor," he tells me as he yawns 'n' stretches his way t' the room he's sharin' with B. A.

Yup. Things're back t' normal.


End file.
